


Nothing More

by ithinkyourewonderful



Series: Home With You [4]
Category: Ratched (TV)
Genre: A hint of my favourite mid-century gay and yours - Trevor, F/F, Mentions of Cancer, Set post-cuckoo's nest, also somehow became a christmas fic but not really, angst but make it steamy and then maybe eventually give it a happy ending, inadvertent sickfic, moments of fluff mixed with moments of heartstabbing pain because why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:08:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 52,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27581804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ithinkyourewonderful/pseuds/ithinkyourewonderful
Summary: She feels nervous facing the woman who she left all those years ago (sixteen, as it happens to be). She spots the waitress staring at her from the counter and sets her face straight and opens the door. Above her head, a bell tinkles but no one looks at her other than the waitress, but she ignores her and moves towards Gwen’s table where she seats herself down across from the other woman. “Hello, Gwen.”An attempt at bridging that gap between the Nurse Ratched we met from ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’ and the Mildred Ratched we leave in Mexico with Gwen at the end ofRatched.
Relationships: Gwendolyn Briggs/Mildred Ratched
Series: Home With You [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016083
Comments: 364
Kudos: 250





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> **a:** We know Nurse Ratched from ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’ and she’s a very different person than the Mildred we leave in Mexico with Gwen. This was my effort at bridging that gap between those two characterisations. I know the easy thing would’ve been to kill Gwen (especially if she was supposed to die at the end of S1 if it weren’t for Sarah Paulson & Cynthia Nixon’s intervention) but where’s the fun in doing anything easy?
> 
>  **b:** So the ages are a little weird because I’m trying to reconcile Sarah Paulson’s age in the series with Louise Fletcher’s and it does not sync up in the least. So, let’s pretend it does sync up and go with it?
> 
>  **c:** This takes place in the same universe as my previous two fics,'Something Sweet, A Peach Tree' and 'In The Night' but you also don’t need to read those to get this… I've put them all into a new series called 'Home With You' because I'm delightfully pretentious.
> 
>  **d:** Why 1966? Because Stonewall, while the most famous of the ‘Gay Liberation’ acts of protest, was far from the first. By 1966, we’d have had LA’s Cooper Do-nuts riot and SF’s Compton's Cafeteria riot (both of which are hella fascinating, and well worth a read if you have the time). In my mind, Gwen and Trevor could’ve accomplished a lot for the cause of Gay Liberation (the term used at the time) under the guise of a married couple than two separate people who’s involvement would’ve raised a lot more brows and would’ve been much harder to provide assistance and support.
> 
>  **e:** The title is from Future Islands’ Moonlight. _“Here's my heart // Don't break it // It's all that I ask // Nothing more”._

* * *

_September 1966 - San Francisco_

“Mr. Briggs, your 1:30 is here.”  
“Send them in.”  
  
The door opens and in steps a ghost, or good as. Trevor Briggs had only met her once or twice, twenty years or so ago, but there was no mistake, he knew who this was the moment the door opened.  
  
“Mildred Ratched, as I live and breathe. Have a seat.” He doesn’t rise, not for her.  
“Thank you.” She sits in the chair across from his desk, clasping her hands in her lap. “I’m surprised you remember me.”  
“Mmmm.” He cocks his head to the side with a non-committal air, watching her. Her hair was still up in those ridiculous rolls, but her clothes weren’t nearly as out of date - she certainly looked more Uptown than Downtown.  
  
He doesn’t say a word as he watches her - and to her credit, she watches him right back. Her lips set in a firm line, her eyes steely. He’d give her this, she was not the pushover that most would assume her to be just by looking at her.  
  
“I thought,” He begins slowly, tenting his index fingers together, “That you were dead?”  
“Thought or hoped?”  
“Hoped.” He doesn’t elaborate.  
“I’d like to see her.”  
“And I’d like to go on a date with Rock Hudson. What can we do?” His palms up, his shoulders shrug.  
  
She smiles, briefly, as if in spite of herself before she dips her head, “I deserve that.”  
  
“You deserve worse.”  
“I do, but not from you.”  
“Why not me? Who do you think she called crying, Mildred? Who do you think picked up her shattered Fiestaware? It was my favourite set. They don’t make that blue anymore Mildred.”  
“I’m sorry.”  
“You certainly are.” He agrees, eyeing her, judging her, and finding her completely lacking. Mildred knows he’s correct. She is lacking, deficient in so many things, all things. But God help her, she still has hope she can set things right. It’s not a large amount of hope, no, it’s a small, singular spark of it, nestled deep in her belly, but it’s enough. She’s survived worse on less. Hope is more than she’s had at times.  
  
She opens her purse and wordlessly takes out a piece of paper, folded in four, and places it on his desk. She closes her purse back up and looks up to find Trevor still staring at her as if he could peer into her soul. Fine, let him try. He wouldn’t be the first man to try to stare her down. He wouldn’t be the last to fail either. Only two people could ever look at her and see her, and one of them was dead. Finally. “She can reach me here until the 29th.”  
“And after that?” He doesn’t even bother to look at the paper.  
“After that, I’ll leave, never to bother her again if that’s what she wants.”  
“Just like that?”  
“Just like that.” She repeats. “I’m not here to hurt her, Trevor.” Her voice strains and breaks a little.  
“Then why are you here, Mildred?” He asks pointedly.  
“To explain. Now that I can. Now that it’s safe to do so.” She rises and smoothes down the front of her skirt, “You’ll see she gets the message?”  
“Hmmm.” Another non-committal hum.

* * *

  
She doesn’t do many touristy things in San Francisco - she doesn’t like cities. Particularly this one. There’s too many strange people about. Too many kids who should be in school, but are out wandering barefoot and high off something or another. She wishes she could go home, but even that is hollow. She knows there’s nothing left for her there. There’s nothing left for her anywhere anymore it seems. The whole world has spun forward and she’s just trying to hold on… To something. Anything.  
  
She spends her days sitting in her room, waiting for the phone to ring and listening to the radio. She was never much of a reader (that was always Gwen). Sometimes she’d go for a walk, but she could never enjoy it, not with these kids wandering about and not with the fear that she’d miss a call. Which is almost what happens when she comes back from the drug store and can hear the phone ring on the other side of her door. She fumbles with her key and the bag in her and, and the bottle of seltzer until she manages to let herself in, heart pounding, racing to pick up the phone with an eager “Hello? Hello?”  
“I almost hung up.”

Oh.

“Trevor.”  
“Don’t sound so excited to hear from me,” He only half-teases with a sigh. “She’ll see you.”  
  
The world stops for a moment.  
  
“Did you hear any of what I said?”  
“She will?” Mildred finally asks, raising a hand to her throat, to remind herself that she isn’t choking, she can breathe.  
“She will.” He repeats as if talking to a particularly slow child. “Do you have a pen and paper handy, because I don’t want to repeat myself for the third time.”  
“Yes. Yes, I’m ready.” She fumbles about, digging a pen out of her purse and jotting the information down on the back of the paper bag from the drug store:

_October 1st - 9am_   
_Linda’s Luncheon_   
_24th and Diamond_

“Thank you, Trevor. I know…” She doesn’t know, not how to finish that sentence or how to make it up, but still, she’s thankful for the opportunity. “Thank you.”  
He hangs up without a word and Mildred realises she’ll have to extend her stay.


	2. i don't believe you're ever comin' back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So,” Gwen begins, her voice false and cheerful.  
> “So…” Mildred repeats, her mouth dry, despite the sip of coffee.  
> “You’re alive I see.” Gwen points out, “I wondered, you know, with the way you left me in Mexico.”  
> “That.”  
> “‘That’, she says. Yes Mildred, ‘ **That** ’.”

* * *

_  
October 1966 - San Francisco_

She pays the cab driver and watches as he drives away leaving her on the quaint street - it feels much more like a small town, like a Main St than a neighbourhood in a large city. There are dry cleaners and butchers and greengrocers and they passed a handful of churches and schools on the ride over.  
  
People lived here. She wonders if Gwen lived here now.  
  
She tries to peer into Linda’s Luncheon from across the street, but the sun is too bright. She should be nervous. She should be scared. She should be so many things, but the truth is, she doesn’t feel much of anything. She won’t feel, not until she sees Gwen, touches her hand, her shoulder, and knows that this is real. That she’s here and she’s alive. She meant what she told Trevor - if Gwen doesn’t want to see her, she can accept that. She’s learned to accept so much loss already, what’s one more? But she does want the chance to explain her actions. Her departure. Gwen had always seen the best in her, Gwen saw **_so much_** in her that she didn’t even see in herself. Still doesn’t see. But Gwen saw it, Gwen always saw her. Sometimes she wonders if that all-seeing gaze was too heavy a burden, but then she remembers she was happy with Gwen, overwhelmingly so. Maybe that happiness was the burden? She always felt uncomfortable with it. Unworthy of it.

She takes a breath and checks the time on her wristwatch. 8:58. She nods to herself and crosses the street towards the diner, towards Gwen.  
  
Mildred pauses at the door, peeking in to see if - there she is, her back to the door, but she would know the lines of her body anywhere. She can do this. She’s made it this far, she can take these final steps, plead her case and then… she doesn’t know. She hates not knowing. She bites her lip, her only concession to her nerves. She feels now. She feels nervous facing the woman who she left all those years ago (sixteen, as it happens to be). She spots the waitress staring at her from the counter and sets her face straight and opens the door. Above her head, a bell tinkles but no one looks at her other than the waitress, but she ignores her and moves towards Gwen’s table where she seats herself down across from the other woman. “Hello, Gwen.”  
  
She wishes time would stop, even for a moment, so she can look at Gwen and commit her to memory. She used to be able to do that whenever she wanted. She could have rolled over in bed and opened her eyes and look at Gwen all she wanted. Or across the dinner table, the garden, in the car, the grocery aisle.  
  
“Mildred.” Gwen greets her softly. They each take a moment to take the other in. The years had been good to Gwen, kind. Mildred thinks to herself. Her features had aged, yes. Her hair no longer the long waves it had once been, now short, with a mess of silver and strawberry blonde curls instead of the soft red she had known. Her figure was a little softer, a little rounder (an unbidden thought makes her blush - what must it be like to be held in those arms, rest against those shoulders?). But her eyes remained the same, still sparkling and shining, and her presence was still calming, still soothing.  
  
She was still Gwen.  
  
She can feel her heart slowing, returning to its steady rhythm. Gwen had always managed to do that to her, settle her, even in the worst of times. She even smelled the same - of soap and perfume with a back note of tobacco. She regretted not making a note of what perfume Gwen had used before she left, thinking it would make it harder, but there were some nights where she wanted nothing more than to smell it and be able to imagine that she was anywhere else but where she was. That she was where Gwen was. That Gwen was just in the washroom brushing her teeth, in the kitchen getting a glass of water, in the living room getting a book. That Gwen was there. Gwen was coming back. It was always then that reality would ground her, nailing her back to the ground. Gwen was never coming back because Gwen had never left. She had.  
  
Reality grounds her again. It seems she can never leave it behind.  
  
“Coffee?”  
“What?”  
“Coffee?” Gwen repeats, not unkindly, turning to the waitress who’s made her way over with a pot in her hand.  
“Oh, yes please.” She blushes, at being caught. “Thank you.”  
“Hungry?” Gwen asks, again, entirely too kindly.  
“Oh - I…”  
“I’m assuming you haven’t eaten breakfast yet?” She shakes her head, unable to keep from smiling at how some things never change. “She’ll have the short stack Joyce, but with the good butter, and the good syrup, fruit on the side.”  
“And you?”  
“Breakfast special - sourdough toast”  
“He said to tell you no more bacon.”  
  
Gwen and Mildred turn to see Trevor a few tables down with another handsome man, both pretending to be lost in their morning papers.  
  
“Fair enough,” She chuckles. “Hold the bacon."  
  
Joyce leaves, and Mildred can’t help but focus on the coffee in front of her, carefully adding sugar, cream, stirring it. Anything so she doesn’t have to look at Gwen looking at her, afraid of what she’ll see. It had been sixteen years, hadn’t it? She had changed - she knows this, there are times when she looks in the mirror and can’t recognise herself. She suddenly worries about her hair, her blouse. She knows Gwen never cared about any that, but she now regrets every choice she’s made with her appearance.  
  
“So,” Gwen begins, her voice false and cheerful.  
“So…” Mildred repeats, her mouth dry, despite the sip of coffee.  
“You’re alive I see.” Gwen points out, “I wondered, you know, with the way you left me in Mexico.”  
“That.”  
“‘That’, she says. Yes Mildred, ‘ ** _that_** ’.” Mildred can hear the exasperated tone, and as much as she doesn’t blame her, it does chafe. No one speaks to her like that, no one dares. “I assumed that’s why you raised yourself up from the dead to haunt me once more.”Gwen continues, her voice airy and unbothered.  
“I had to leave you, Gwen, you **_know_** that.”  
“Did I, Mildred? Because I was under the impression we would’ve faced him together.”  
“I had to leave you before it ever got to that point. Before Edmund got to you. Before he **_killed_** you.” Her voice is now a harsh whisper.  
“So you saved him the trouble. It was certainly kind of you, Mildred. Very considerate. Then again, I would never expect less than that from you.”  
“That’s not fair Gwendolyn and you know it.”  
  
“Here we are,” Joyce returns, oblivious to the conversation she’s interrupting. “One short stack, fruit on the side, good butter, good syrup.” She shoots a pointed look at Gwen before placing the items in front of Mildred, “And one special, hold the bacon, sourdough, lightly toasted.”  
“Thanks, Joyce.”  
  
Neither woman is hungry - they simply sit across from each other and take the other in. After so many years, it’s a surreal experience. It takes everything of Mildred’s not to reach out a hand, a leg, touch the other woman in some way. She craves it like she’s never craved anyone or anything before. Gwen however looks at her coolly, disinterested and indifferent. She’s never looked at her like that before. Even when she was angry with Mildred, she always cared but this, this is something new and altogether different, and even though she knows she deserves it, it hurts. “You should start,” Gwen finally speaks, picking up her own fork and knife, “Before it gets cold. I think you’ll like them unless you no longer like pancakes?”  
“I do,” Mildred says as she begins to spread a layer of butter and syrup between each layer. “I just don’t eat them all that often anymore.”  
“No?”  
“No.” She doesn’t say how they make her sad. They make her think of Gwen, and how Gwen would make them for her most weekends, or for special events. Birthdays, Christmases, anniversaries. Her eyes darken and she focuses on her plate, cutting a small bite and placing it in her mouth, savouring the moment. Even with Gwen angry at her, she’s content enough to be here, with the woman she loved, still loves, and a stack of pancakes. “How are they?” Gwen asks.  
“Almost as good as yours. Would you like a bite?”  
“I’m surprised you remember.”  
“I remember everything.” She admits softly, sneaking a look up into the other woman’s eyes for a moment before returning her attention back to her plate.

They eat and talking of safe things, things like the weather, and what Mildred did (and didn’t do) during her time here. She doesn’t mention to Gwen it wasn’t a holiday, it was solely to find her. Tell her in person Edmund was finally captured. Finally dead. Could no longer hurt either of them. She notices something over her shoulder steal Gwen’s attention, so she turns to see Trevor and his companion rising with their papers and their hats, a wordless conversation happening between Mr & Mrs. Briggs while the companion watches her with a sympathetic gaze. It makes her stomach churn - sympathy. Pity. A gross and useless emotion. She looks away, puts her knife and fork down, her appetite gone despite her disdain for wasting food. The two men leave and she can feel Gwen’s focus return to her. “So I see you didn’t go through with the divorce?” Mildred asks curtly. Irrationally hurt and angry.  
“What couple doesn’t have their ups and their downs.” Gwen smiles, slipping into a practiced line.  
“I see.”  
“It was easier for both of us to remain married, especially after you…left.” She explains. “It allowed both of us to live…our lives without scrutiny.”  
“I see. And you live together?” She takes a sip of her coffee, but it’s gone tepid and she doesn’t want to risk another interruption.  
“We live…” Gwen moves her head side to side, thinking, “Beside each other. Next to one another.” She catches Joyce’s eye and motions to her cup. “And you? Where did you end up?”  
“Coffee?” Joyce asks, topping up both of their cups and then disappearing once again before they can answer.  
“Oh - Salem. Oregon.”  
“Wow. What took you there?”  
“You don’t really care, do you, Gwen?”  
“Not particularly, no. But I don’t know what else to talk about, so…”  
“We never had that problem before, did we?”  
“How would I know what problems we had Mildred? You disappeared.”  
“It wasn’t because of you Gwen, you know that. It was because of Edmund.”  
“Edmund wasn’t the one who left me. Edmund wasn’t the one who **_broke_** my **_heart_** , Mildred. You were.”  
“If I stayed, it would’ve been worse.”  
“I guess we’ll never know.”  
  
A moment of silence passes as she looks at Mildred, watches her. If she looks at her just so, she can swear she sees traces of the young woman she once loved buried beneath layers and layers of…pain and anger but then she moves and it’s gone. There is only this woman who looks like Mildred, who sounds like her, but isn’t her, because Mildred could never have left her as she did, could she?  
  
“Why are you here? Why now?”  
“Because he’s dead.”  
“I’m sorry.” She doesn’t know if she’s sorry for her loss, or for her answer.  
“I’m not.” She means it. She’s no longer sorry about Edmund’s capture or his death at the hands of Nevada State Correctional systems. She had given everything up for Edmund, **_everything_**. She had committed entire decades of her life to him and still, he had turned on her to make her pay for some imagined slight that began to erode her devotion to him. Her dedication. By the time he was caught by the Reno Police Department (in no small part due to a **_completely anonymous_** tip as to where and when they could find him, his weapons, and his last three victims) all of her love for him was gone, bleached out of her bones until nothing remained. Not anger, not even rage.  
  
Just blissful, silent, familiar nothingness.  
  
It was the same nothingness that she had felt before Gwen introduced **_something_** into her life. Love, joy, kindness, compassion. Feeling safe enough to drink too much bourbon and gin and to take the other woman in her arms and dance around the living room to the radio until they were too dizzy to continue.  
  
Mildred came to find that that nothingness, however familiar, no longer fits her. She had outgrown it like a too-small shoe, stretched out pantyhose. It pinched her and slid and twisted about and around her until she had to throw it off in frustration and admit she missed Gwen. No, missed is too dull, too weak a word, but no other would do. She didn’t need her - need implies a biological or emotional necessity. She doesn’t need her, she’s lived just fine without her it’s just that-  
  
“Mildred?”  
  
Oh. She blinks and realises she has wasted time spiralling off on some tangent instead of being here, being with Gwen.  
  
“Mildred, are you ok?”  
“I’m sorry,” She apologises, “You were saying?”  
“I was just asking if everything’s all right? You were a million miles away.”  
“Was there anyone else? After me?” The question jumps out of her, startling both of them.  
There’s a pause that hangs between them. One where Mildred feels she should apologise for asking, but she doesn’t. She knows their time is coming to an end, and she would rather know than not.  
  
“Mildred.” Gwen sighs, peering at her in that way she had. Has.  
“Of course there was.” Mildred’s face twists into a smile as if her mouth was filled with glass shards.  
“No.” Gwen’s gaze changes, hardens.  
“No?”  
“No, as in no, you don’t get to ask, Mildred. You don’t get to know. You **_left me,_** Mildred,” Her voice drops needlessly, there’s no one around them to hear, but certain thoughts, certain words are not meant for speaking aloud in the mid-morning sun.“You broke my heart and you left me in Mexico. You **_left_** me. There were - God, there were nights where I wish I had died-don’t. Don’t you dare interrupt me,” She warns, jaw set firm, eyes gleaming, “There were times I wish I never went to Mexico or heard of mistletoe or Mildred Ratched. There were nights where I had wished Edmund killed me, or that the cancer would come back so that I could be done with-”  
“Gwen, no-“  
“Because maybe **_then_** you’d come back?”  
“I’m back, Gwen. I’m **_back_**. Edmund is dead and I’m back-” Mildred pleads quietly.  
“Maybe then you’d care about me? Love me again.” They talk over each other, the words they’ve kept inside for the last sixteen years finally bleeding out of them.  
“I care, Gwen, I have **_always_** cared.” She can no longer help herself, she can no longer hold back, she reaches a hand out and places it on Gwen’s wrist, stilling her hand from fiddling with her coffee cup. Both of their hearts stop at the spark that passes from one of them to the other. “I have **_always_** loved you. Before I even knew what that feeling was, it was love. **_That’s_** why I had to leave, to keep you **_safe_**. To keep you… ** _alive_**. The things he did to those nurses, Gwen. To those other women? Do you think I could ever let that happen to you?!”  
“I honestly don’t know what to think Mildred.” She admits, staring out the window at the quiet comings and goings. “Don’t you see?”  
“There was never anyone else.” Mildred states, her voice returning to its previous calm tone.“Not for me.”  
“Mildred,” Gwen sighs, not sure what else to do, what else to say.  
“I can live with the fact you hate me. I can. So long as you’re **_alive_** to hate me. So long as your heart beats and Edmund didn’t hurt you, didn’t touch you, I can live with that. But I had to see you again for myself. That you are alive,” She pulls her hand back from Gwen’s wrist when she notices the waitress wandering over to them with the pot of coffee, “That you were here.”  
“I’m here,” Gwen confirms, looking Mildred square in the eye, “I’m alive.”  
  
A moment hangs between them, their meal done and their time coming to an end.  
  
“Well, is there anything else?” Gwen asks, slipping a bill under her plate, waving away Mildred’s efforts to pay.  
“No, I suppose not.” Mildred lies, putting her money back into her purse.  
“Well then, shall we call you a taxi? I assume you’re staying downtown?”  
“I’d like to walk about if that’s alright?” Mildred smiles, hoping the other woman will offer to walk with her or suggest they continue this conversation, but she doesn’t. She simply looks at her as if she wasn’t once her lover, as if she wasn’t once her whole world and shrugs. “Goodbye Joyce!” Gwen calls out as she leads them out of the restaurant and turns left, leaving Mildred to follow behind.  
  
They walk down the street for a block or two, a gulf between them, until Gwen stills at the corner, “I’m afraid this is my turn off.”  
“Oh.” Mildred worries her lower lip with her teeth. “I don’t suppose…”  
“No,” Gwen answers, kindly but firmly, squinting in the bright sunlight. Thankful that it’s too bright to see Mildred clearly. It’ll make it harder to remember this moment when she’s alone when she will inevitably regret her answer.  
“I understand.” She nods to herself softly, setting her jaw firm before looking up at Gwen. She doesn’t quite smile, or at least not in the way Gwen remembers Mildred’s smile, beaming, as if lit from within, but she curls the corners of her mouth up before asking, “If you knew then what you know now - about how it ended, would you do it again?”  
“Mildred, I…” Her voice dies off, her lips press together and she blinks in the too-bright sunlight. “Why would -“  
“I would. In a **_heartbeat_**. I would break my heart every day if it meant I got to be with you again, for those few short years.” And then she changes, the spark and the light that had been missing slowly grows within her until her smile beams the way it did all those years ago, and for one brief moment, Gwen is ready to take her in her arms, take her home and never let her go. “No matter how much you hate what I did, hate me, please tell me you don’t regret me? Because I loved you.” She slips her hand into Gwen’s. “I still **_love_** you.”  
“Not enough though, did you?” Gwen smiles sadly at their joined hands.  
“It was good to see you, Gwen.” She takes a deep breath and lets go of the other woman’s hand. Gwen will never forgive her, she realises, will never see that everything she did was for her and there’s nothing she can do to change her mind. So she turns away to walk away, leaving Gwen heartbroken and left holding a small scrap of paper.

Gwen hurries home, barely making it to the front door before the tears come pouring out, her body trying to breathe, one hand pressed against her aching heart and the other crushing the note. The note. She hurries to unfold the paper, smooths it, and wills her tears to try and stop so she can make out the writing, oh God, how she’d missed Mildred’s precise writing. The lists she’d make and the clean, bold lines she’d use to cross them through once they no longer served her purposes. She swallows once, twice, and blinks to get rid of the last of the tears and then she reads the note:  
  
In case you change your mind:  
_M. Ratched_  
_1567 Lone Oak Rd_  
_Salem, OR, 97302_  
_503-555-9873_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **a:** The title is from underrated 60s soul singer Jackie Shane's 'Comin' Down' _What's wrong with me? I said it's a simple fact // I don't believe you're ever comin' back_


	3. interlude - lose something every day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wasn’t nervous, not about leaving Gwen, it was simply something that had to be done. Mildred Ratched was accustomed to losing things, losing people in her life. The art of losing wasn’t a hard one to master - a key, an hour, a brother, a lover.

* * *

_August 1950 - Mexico_

She checks Gwen’s pulse once more, just to make sure she didn’t lace her drink too heavily. She counts the beats as the seconds tick by on her wristwatch Gwen bought her for her birthday until she’s satisfied everything is as it should be. She just needed to make sure she stays asleep as she gathers the last of her things, gives her enough of a head start.

She wasn’t nervous, not about leaving Gwen, it was simply something that had to be done. Mildred Ratched was accustomed to losing things, losing people in her life. The art of losing wasn’t a hard one to master - a key, an hour, a brother, a lover. Her only fear was that she’d left it too long, that she hadn’t been able to leave soon enough and Edmund would come in any moment and - **_no_**! She won’t allow herself to think of that. It’s a possibility, but Mildred had gotten rather good at making the possibilities work out in her favour, so she will leave Gwen here in Mexico, in the middle of the night. She will lure Edmund back to America and away from Gwen. She will make sure Gwen survives, even if she has to die to do so. Their time together was… Over. She cannot think of anything beyond that because if she thinks of the woman she loves, of the woman who loves her (God, how Gwen loves her, as she had never been loved before, like she was someone worthy of love, of happiness) she wouldn’t be able to leave. And if she doesn’t leave, Edmund will come and Edmund will kill them both. Gwen will die horribly and painfully because of her and no, she won’t let that happen, can’t let that happen.

Mildred lets go of her lover’s hand and sets it back onto the bed. She allows herself one last glance, a moment to commit everything about her to memory: how her hair lays splayed out all over the pillow, the peaceful look on her face, the smell of sleep and sea salt in the room. What she wouldn’t give to be able to climb back into bed, back into her arms, and wait for the world to disappear, leave them alone. She wants to run a finger down the side of her face, touch her one last time, but can’t risk waking her up. Their kiss after dinner, their morning they spent in bed will have to do.

She blinks away the beginnings of tears as she gathers her coat, her purse. She pulls the letter she had written earlier out of her pocket and leaves it on the bedside table next to the book of poems Gwen would sometimes read to her from. It contains bank information, an apology, instructions to burn the letter after reading. She tells herself she can do it, that she’d done harder, she’s done worse and she can do this too. She even makes it as far as the door before she hurries back and climbs onto the bed and frantically takes the other woman’s face in her hands and kisses her hard enough that it wakes her. “Mmmmm Mildred, turn off the light and get in bed…” Gwen smiles up at her, eyes all but closed.

“I will, I just need to change.” Mildred lies, “I love you, so much Gwen. Promise me, you’ll never forget that?”

“Tell me tomorrow,” She says, burrowing herself deeper into the bed, “So tired right now." Mildred lets out a lungful of air to keep herself from crying as she rises from the bed to leave. She switches the lamp off, leaving the room lit in bright moonlight and she lets her hand run over the book like it longs to run over the other woman’s body. She feels her fingers curl over the hard edge of it, and before she knows it, she tucks it under her arm, gathers her belongings once more and walks out of the house and away from the only person she loves.

Could ever love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **a:** : The title, and the inspiration for the line from the chapter summary are both from Elizabeth Bishop's One Art. And while I have thoughts on her work, this poem is... simply the most heartbreaking thing imaginable.  
>  **b:**


	4. they just remind me I'm without you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She remembers how Gwen’s wet hair felt cold in her hands and how hard the wood was against the back of her head. She remembers the whine coming from herself, too far gone in love and desire to be embarrassed about any of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **a:** A warning that this chapter contains some adult content.

* * *

_November 1966 - Salem, OR_

Life is different when Mildred returns to Oregon.

Different but the same.

She goes to work, comes home, shops, sleeps. She does everything she had done before, except it feels different. It feels wrong and heavy and forever. It begins to occur to her as she shops for groceries one night that this may be hell. She’s never really believed in heaven and hell and the afterlife - but since her return from San Francisco, she begins to worry this may be hell - an unending eternity of **_this_** , whatever **_this_** was. Monotonous, and meaningless. She’s not often prone to melancholy, but she can’t shake the ache out of her chest and the weight off her shoulders. It all just follows her around everywhere she goes - from the halls of work to the aisles of Fred Meyers’ to the empty rooms her little bungalow. She doesn’t know how she’s going to survive the rest of her life if this is it… She thinks this to herself as she pulls up her car into her driveway that night and just sits there in the dark, idling.

She is tired - a bone-weary exhaustion that goes deeper than muscle and bone, but all the way to the spirit, the soul (if she even has one). This is the first time in as long as she could remember she wasn’t scared, wasn’t running. From her childhood, from Edmund to Gwen and beyond - she had run, and run, away and around and about and she was tired. God, she was tired in a way she could never remember being tired before. She wishes she could chalk it up to getting older, but she suspects it had more to do with her trip last month. There had always been something about Gwen that made her body just…, she smiles to herself in the car in spite of herself, that was the effect the other woman had on her from the very start. From the minute she had first kissed her in that living room (her eyes close, a jolt runs through her as if that was yesterday, not twenty some odd years ago) she had felt her body let go. She had let go of her tightly bound up desire for the woman, yes, but she also let go of the stress, of the heaviness, of the tension that came with navigating the world so alone for so long.  
  
She had worried at the time that caring for someone, loving someone like she had loved Gwen would be too much effort, but while it was work, it was joyous and joyful work. It was work she had missed every day when she first left, though soon she was able to sever that part of her mind, her memories from the rest of her until she could move through the world unbothered by anything other than finding, luring, and trapping Edmund. She hadn’t lied to Gwen when she said there had been no one but her. It wasn’t just that she refused to risk anyone else’s safety, it was that she refused to believe that there could be anyone who would ever see her like Gwen saw her, and loved her like Gwen once loved her.

She blinks in the dark and realises she’s been sitting in her car for - she checks her wristwatch (still the one Gwen gave her all those years ago) - over thirty minutes and she gathers herself and her belongings, hoping the neighbours didn’t notice. She makes her way up the walk and to her front door and lets herself in, setting the grocery bags on the side table while she locks and bolts the door. She stands in the dark for a moment, feeling and listening to the house, not letting herself move until she knows she’s alone, knows it’s safe to do so.

She begins to take off her winter coat, her winter shoes and moves to the kitchen where she puts on the kettle and puts away her groceries: deli meat, sliced bread, cheese, canned peaches, eggs, peanut butter, apples and milk. Her tastes had always been simple, economical - food had always been Gwen’s interest. She pulls out a fresh mug and drops in a teabag. She has no desire to eat tonight, but still places a piece of bread in the toaster, an apple on a plate. She goes through the steps automatically, her mind turning off (except for the one small part that is always listening, always aware, always on alert) as she moves from the kitchen to the small bedroom where she changes out of her uniform into an old wool skirt, a ratty sweater. She doesn’t turn on the radio or the tv, the sounds and lights are too distracting, too easy to allow someone to sneak up on her. No, she prefers the quiet, a nice change of pace from the hospital. As for the thoughts that run through her head in the silence, they long since stopped surprising her.

Dressed, she returns to the kitchen where she makes a slice of toast, spreads some peanut butter on it, slices an apple, makes a cup of tea and sets it all at the small table where she’ll eat while reading the newspaper from cover to cover (some habits never die) and then bathe and go to bed. This is her life. This is her life every night and will continue to be her life until she dies and just thinking of it reminds her how exhausted she is. She goes to the front door and collects the paper and the rest of her mail - bill, bill, flyer, and… Her hackles rise and her pulse quickens as she reaches a battered postcard from…she can’t read it in the dark. She races to the kitchen, with its bright white light - a white marble fountain with massive humans sculptures around it - she flips it over and she stops breathing, her lungs and heart freeze mid-motion as she sees Gwen’s familiar script. It takes a moment to even register the words, she’s so taken by the fact that it’s from Gwen: **_In a heartbeat_**.  
  


In a heartbeat. 

That’s all it says but she rereads it over and over, running her finger over the ink as her body begins to come back to life, her lungs and heart begin to pump air and blood back into her body. She forces herself to put it on the counter, to follow her routine, to spread the newspaper in front of her and eat her dinner and sip her (now lukewarm) tea, but her eye keeps drifting to the postcard, her mind keeps racing with the words Gwen wrote. She eventually finishes all of the ‘A’ section of the paper and gives herself permission to give up and give in and she returns to the postcard, devouring every square inch of it - from the smeared ‘airmail’ stamp to the dent in the top corner, the rip on the side, to the small font on the bottom listing its location as ‘The Trevi Fountain, Rome, Italy’. Gwen is in Rome, Gwen is thinking of her, Gwen…doesn’t regret her. She may hate her, but she doesn’t regret her. She can’t live with that, but she can certainly work with it… 

She places the card on her bedside table as she bathes. She doesn’t even have the same guilt she usually has as she slides her hand between her legs in the warm bathwater - she allows herself to have this moment, this thought of Gwen, and what they had once shared. She treats those memories as if they’re precious, delicate artifacts, liable to crumble if they’re handled and viewed too frequently, too roughly. She savours the rare occasions she allows herself to think of the delicious intimacy she once shared with her. Tonight she chooses the time they were in the ocean in Mexico early one morning, the beach all but empty and Gwen holding her upright as she kept getting knocked about by the waves. They make it far enough out that their toes barely brush the seafloor, their bodies float above the waterline. She remembers the way Gwen beams at her, telling her she’s proud of her for making this far out, knowing Mildred’s not a fan of the ocean, often opting to stay on the shore and watch over her lover out in the water. And then she kisses her briefly. It’s salty and wet and it’s exhilarating to be kissed outside. “Touch me?” She pleads of the other woman. She doesn’t know where it came from - if it’s the kiss or the way Gwen looks like a water nymph in the sun with saltwater on her lashes, or the exhilaration of being outside and being both frightened and free in the water but she finds herself craving Gwen, craving release. “Touch me, please?” She asks again, her whole body suddenly charged with desire and need.   
“Oh, my darling,” Gwen’s face breaks out into a smile brighter than the sun, “You only have to ask…”. She takes a quick glance back at the shore, but there’s only a handful of people wandering about, all too far to see or to care, before she dips below the water and pops up behind Mildred, shielding her from the shore and any prying eyes. She wraps one arm across her chest, her hand resting on her right breast and the other wrapped around her waist, her fingers slowly running up and down from her belly to between her legs. “Is this ok?” Gwen murmurs in her ear, sending shivers down her body.   
“Yes,” Mildred sighs, as Gwen finds the edge of her bathing suit. “Yes.” She repeats again because she can’t tell if this is real or not. It can’t possibly be, she can’t possibly be in Gwen’s arms like this outside, under the sun, can she? She whines with frustration as Gwen toys with her, her hand gliding up and down her thighs, ghosting over her core, but not quite enough to relieve her. “Gwen, stop teasing, please.” She grits out, her hips rocking as much as they can against the other woman’s body as they float on the water.

“Or else?” Gwen teases…

Even now, on this November night in Oregon, sixteen years and a thousand miles away, Mildred wishes she had turned around to be able to see Gwen’s face as she grabbed her lover’s hand in hers and together drove them unceremoniously between her legs. It’s the way Gwen gasps “ _Oh_ …” in her ear that makes her want her so bad she can’t speak. All she can do is grip tightly onto Gwen’s hand as it works its way in and out, all she can do is rut against their hands until the roar of her body drowns out the ocean lapping against their bodies and Gwen’s voice murmuring in her ear. She wishes she could remember Gwen’s words, but she can’t. She can only remember the warmth, the love, the safety and the praise that washes over as she comes against the other woman. She can recall the stars suddenly exploding in the endless blue sky, she can recall her spent body going limp in the water, she can remember the kisses pressed against her temple but she cannot remember the words Gwen said to her. She remembers the look of awe and desire on Gwen’s face when she finally turns to see her, the way her lips move, but Mildred can’t hear her words over the ocean, over her own body.

She remembers being lead back to shore, of Gwen wrapping her towel over her shoulders, of reaching their flat and having Gwen all but slamming their bodies against the closing door, kissing her hard and fast, her hands peeling her wet swimsuit off her body before dropping to her knees. Mildred’s fingers work harder against her folds as she replays the scene before her, Gwen’s mouth nestled between her legs, her mouth relentless against her. She remembers how Gwen’s wet hair felt cold in her hands and how hard the wood was against the back of her head. She remembers the whine coming from herself, too far gone in love and desire to be embarrassed about any of it. She comes again, her mind still reeling that this real, that this feeling of love and want is real… That Gwen, with her blue eyes blown black and her cheeks red and chin damp, is real. That’s what pushes Mildred over the edge tonight, that memory of Gwen on her knees before her, looking up at her as if she was everything, as if there was nowhere else that she could ever want to be. It’s Gwen’s love that she thinks of as she comes against her own hand in the bath, the shallow breaths echoing off the tile, the bathwater a sad imitation of the endless, empty ocean. It’s Gwen she craves, despite knowing better than to want what she cannot have. As she settles back into her body, her present reality, she knows there is no Gwen. Not anymore. It’s just her.

She shivers in the (now) cold water and rises, wrapping her robe around herself as she steps out of the bath, washes her hand in the sink. Mildred is tired, and so changes quickly into her nightgown in the dark and slips into bed. She turns over and through half-closed eyes stares at the postcard. 

**_In a heartbeat_**. 

In a heartbeat in a heartbeat in a heartbeat.

The words run through her head until they sound no different than waves lapping at the shore, sending her off to sleep, reminding her that she was once loved, she was once beloved, and she was once worthy of it.

In a heartbeat.

She was not forgotten. She was not regretted.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **b:** The title is from FKA Twigs' beautiful Mirrored Heart... Highly suggest listening to that song... and then the whole Magdalene album.  
>  **c:** Fred Meyers' is a grocery/all-purpose general store chain in Oregon & beyond. It's high key one of the things Oregonians are most proud of, and you know, I love that for them.  
>  **d:** Comments are like a socially distance hug... I'm just saying... ☺️


	5. what a mess we made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her heart does something in her chest when she hears the voice on the other line, it soars or drops or something, she doesn’t know what. She may even be having a heart attack. “I didn’t think you’d pick up.” Mildred admits softly.

* * *

_November 1966 - London_

Gwen can hear the phone ringing before she even enters her room, but she’s not particularly bothered or hurried to answer it, not expecting a call. She enters the room, leaving her purchases at the door, tossing her keys and her purse on the bed, unclipping her earring as she raises the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”  
  
“Oh, Gwen, I…” Her heart does something in her chest when she hears the voice on the other line, it soars or drops or something, she doesn’t know what. She may even be having a heart attack. “I didn’t think you’d pick up,” Mildred admits softly.  
  
“I almost missed it. I just got in.” Gwen admits, seating herself on the edge of the bed, pulling the phone to her lap. “How did you…? Oh, you were always resourceful.” She answers her own question, smiling in spite of herself. “Driven.”  
  
A moment passes between them. Gwen had forgotten what it’s like to be on the receiving end of Mildred Ratched’s focus.  
  
Overwhelming and magnificent.  
  
“How are you?” There’s a nondescript sound, but Gwen can’t tell if it’s the shoddy transatlantic connection or the woman on the other line. “I…what time is it there?” She does the math, “Mildred, it’s practically the middle of the night darling,” It slips out of her mouth before she even knows what she’s saying. Again, a nondescript sound, a gasp perhaps, or a sigh, or a bad connection, who knows? “Mildred I,” She pauses, shifting in bed so she’s sitting upright, her back against the headboard, her fingers twirling around the telephone wire. “I shouldn’t have sent you that postcard. I’m sorry, it was cruel of me.” She closes her eyes as if doing so could help her hear the soft sounds coming from the other end of the line as if by closing her eyes, she could see Mildred. Which, she had to be fair, happened fairly frequently now.  
  
She wishes she could hang up, supposes she could, but it wouldn’t change anything. She’d still see her every time she closed her eyes at night, thinks she spots her auburn hair when walking through a crowd, smells L'Air du Temps on a woman passing by. “I wish you’d never come to see me.” She admits, “I haven’t been able to think of anything else. Sixteen years Mildred, sixteen years, and nothing’s changed, I still can’t get you out.” There’s no response, but she can hear her breathing hitch on the other end. “And believe me I’ve tried, I’ve tried Mildred, I have tried anything and everything I could think of and yet you were always with me, in me.” Her voice cracks, and she doesn’t realize she’s crying until she wipes away a tear. “You shouldn’t have looked for me, and I shouldn’t have written to you but here we are, so now what?”  
  
Neither of them knows how to answer the question.  
  
“I used to have these dreams of you, still do.” She laughs, “We’re on the beach back in Mexico. It’s dawn, or it’s dusk, I don’t know, but you’re just ahead of me, you’re walking into the ocean fully dressed and I call to you, and you don’t turn around, you don’t hear me, you don’t see me and I try to run to you, but I can’t move. So there we are, you in that blue striped dress you used to wear around the house, always the blue dress, with the stripes and the buttons…” She remembers it well, it was what Mildred would wear to clean up, or muck about, she would’ve never been caught dead outside of their apartment in it. “Just walking out into the water as the sun…sets? Rises? I don’t know but you disappear, never once looking back at me. And I’m stuck there, frozen, screaming your name.” Gwen swallows back some of her tears, shaking her head clear it of the heaviness of memories.  
  
“What a mess we’ve made, haven’t we?” She asks, too cheerfully, changing the topic, “You were wearing your watch when you came to see me, weren’t you?” There is no answer, and she wasn’t expecting one, not really. She imagines Mildred nodding on the other end, her mouth pressed together in a thin line, as it did every so often, when she didn’t have the words. Words were always Gwen’s area of expertise, actions were Mildred’s. Where Gwen would be able to say exactly the right words in the right order at the right time, Mildred often stumbled or opted to stay silent unless she was absolutely certain she was right. Instead, Mildred preferred to show her devotion instead of speak it. Actions always spoke louder than words for Mildred, and Gwen hates that she remembers this.  
  
Gwen hates how sixteen years of forgetting, of trying to forget was for nothing, and if it was all for nothing then wh- “Knock knock!” Trevor calls out, announcing himself as he raps his knuckles on the other side of the hotel door. “Are you ready?”  
  
“Damn it.” Gwen mutters, her heart sinking before she covers the mouthpiece with her hand, “I’ll meet you in the lobby.” She calls out, waiting to hear him step away from the door before she returns to the phone. “Mildred, Mildred I’m sorry, I have to go.” Again, she imagines Mildred nodding into the phone, unable or unwilling to say anything. “I-” She pauses, uncertain how to end the call, but unwilling to leave it like that. “Thank you, Mildred,” She begins firmly, “Thank you for calling. I’ve missed… hearing…you.” She slips the handset back on the base and puts it back on the phone. She sits for a moment, pressing her hand upon her heart as she lets it come back to life. She had told Trevor all those years ago that she could not get Mildred out, and it seems here she is, after all this time, and still just as desperately, hopelessly, foolishly in love with her. She gathers her purse and heads down to meet Trevor and Andy downstairs to continue their holiday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **a** : Title from Amy Winehouse's 'Love is a Losing Game' _Love is a losing game // One I wish I never played // Oh, what a mess we made_  
>  **b** : L'Air du Temps is still available today (though the formulation has changed, I believe) and the preferred perfume of Clarice Starling from Silence of the Lambs...


	6. interlude - you will at some point, fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She remembers spending whole days despondent on the patio, thinking about how our bodies should be merciful and should stop when our hearts break. But here she is, her heart somehow slowly knitting itself back together. Beating stronger, beating faster. Still beating for the other woman and the hope that it wasn’t too late. They had wasted so much time that it feels criminal to waste another minute and she refuses to do it.

* * *

_December 1966 - Over the Atlantic Ocean  
  
_Gwen tightens the shawl around her shoulders and yawns. She knows she should sleep like everyone else on the flight, but finds she can’t. Her body and her mind are running on exhaustion and nerves and adrenaline. “Miss,” One of the flight attendants whispers, to not wake the sleeping passengers around them, presenting her with a mug, “Your tea.”  
“Thank you.”  
“Are you certain I can’t get you anything to help sleep?”  
“Yes, thank you.” Gwen smiles softly before returning her attention to the window. There are so many stars, and the moon is almost full and beautifully bright, casting an eerie blue-white light all over the clouds beneath them. It reminds her of the nights they spent on the patio in Mexico, sharing a chaise and a blanket. She sips her too-strong tea. Personally, she’s partial to coffee, but she’s learned to not ask the Brits for that. No, why set herself up for disappointment?  
  
Her reflection smiles wryly back at her. Why set herself up for disappointment indeed. That’s what she’s doing now, isn’t it? She shouldn’t be doing this. No, she should still be with Trevor and Andrew, on their journey back to San Francisco, but when the time came, she found she couldn’t do it. She had somewhere else to be. Her heart begins to race at just the thought. After all those years, just the thought of Mildred could still do things to her body. She sighs and takes another sip.  
  
It wasn’t fair.  
  
Then again, life wasn’t fair, and no one knew that more than Mildred. This is something that she keeps returning to - that life had been incredibly unfair to Mildred Ratched. Life hadn’t been particularly kind or easy for Gwen, but she managed to make it through better than most. She had a life, and she had friends, and she had good times enough - but what had Mildred had? Her life before St. Lucia, before Gwen, seemed heartbreakingly miserable and her life after, well, she could only guess. She hadn’t asked her at breakfast, in part because she didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to hear if there was someone else (and now she wishes there had been, for no other than to imagine Mildred alone again hurts her in a very specific and unmentionable way). She hadn’t wanted to hear that she had to leave, because Gwen refuses to believe she had to. They could’ve handled Edmund together - there was nothing that she wouldn’t have done or endured for Mildred. She hadn’t wanted to hear anything. She had only wanted to see Mildred for herself, that’s all. And now that she has, all she can do is imagine what the last sixteen years had been like for the other woman, on her own, a psychotic after her, killing women left and right in her name…God, she should’ve been there. She should’ve asked, and then listened to Mildred. She should’ve listened to her heart and just pulled her into her arms and never have let her go. She should’ve taken her home and she should’ve kissed her and held her and forgiven her and have done anything she could to make her stay.  
  
Her hand floats to her heart once more, where she presses against it until she can feel it beat beneath her fist. So long as it still beats, it’s not too late. She remembered during her last few months in Mexico, where it surprised her that she was alive, that her heart had continued to beat and continued to pump blood through her veins. It should’ve stopped working when Mildred broke it. She didn’t understand why the body continues to live when the heart breaks. It shouldn’t. She remembers spending whole days despondent on the patio, thinking about how our bodies should be merciful and should stop when our hearts break. But here she is, her heart somehow slowly knitting itself back together. Beating stronger, beating faster. Still beating for the other woman and the hope that it wasn’t too late. They had wasted so much time that it feels criminal to waste another minute and she refuses to do it.  
  
She checks her watch, calculates her route - another six hours on this flight, and then a night in New York before the next leg of her journey, and then a three-hour drive down… It’ll be another two days until she is where near where she wants to be, but having waited sixteen years, she can wait another forty-eight hours. She steadies her breath, calms her fears, and takes another sip of lukewarm tea.  
  
And she waits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **a:** Title from James Blake's Lullaby for my Insomniac - _Sleep happens to you // It's not a failure if you can't // In any case, you will at some point // Fall_  
>  **b:** The whole part of the broken heart is so poorly, poorly stolen from Tony Kushner's 'Angels in America' and I only apologize for doing it poorly.


	7. as numb as i’ve become

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> she reaches a hand out to the other woman, landing it softly upon her breast where she wordlessly counts along with the rapid beats until she feels them slow back to normal. She wishes she could say something to comfort Gwen, comfort both of them, but she has no words, no actions she can do other than draw the other woman to her body and hold her close. She wraps her arms around her and they both just stand there for a moment, breathing against each other, letting their bodies remember what it felt like to be this close again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **a:** tw - there's a description of capital punishment/the death penalty by gas chamber towards the end. You can stop reading it at 'Soon after that though she started feeling…less. ' and pick back up at the next paragraph.

* * *

_December 1966 - Salem, OR  
  
_ It’s raining hard and for the umpteenth time that day, Mildred regrets not replacing her windshield wipers the last time the car was in the shop. Still, she turns onto her street, she supposes she should be thankful it’s not snow - after so many years in California, snow is still a foreign and unsettling occurrence. It bothers her how dirty it gets, collecting in sludgy grey piles on street corners and salting up her s - she slows down as she approaches her house - a strange car parked in her driveway.  
  
She drives past the house as she takes a deep breath. Reviews the facts. Makes a plan.  
  
Edmund is dead, she tells herself as she turns left.  
  
Charlotte still incarcerated, another left.  
  
Bromden had been picked up in Utah, she had confirmed that rumour herself, left.  
  
She pulls back up in front of her house and parks on the street where she reaches over for the slim blade she keeps under her seat before turning off the car. She eyes the strange car and steadies her breath - she’s faced worse, she can protect herself if she really wanted to. She gathers her purse and her umbrella, opening it before she steps out of the car. She holds the knife by the blade, hidden in the sleeve of her coat and makes her way to her house, her eye trained on the figure in the car, but it’s too rainy to make much out. They’re tall, and they’ve spotted her. The car door opensand she stops before she reaches it, ready to run if need be when she - “Gwen?”  
“Hi.” The woman smiles sheepishly.  
“What are you doing here?” She asks, tamping down her fear turned to excitement turned to God only knows what, tightening her grip on the handle of the umbrella. “You scared the living daylights out of me!”  
“I’m sorry, I should’ve called. I realize that once I got here…” She squints as the rain sluices over her face, “Not to be presumptuous, but any chance we can talk under your umbrella?” She grins that wide-open grin of hers and Mildred’s gone, her heart thumping loud enough that she suspects Gwen can hear it over the wind and the rain. “Or even inside?”  
“Inside?”  
“Unless this isn’t a good time? I know I should’ve-”  
“No, no. This is as good a time as any I suppose.” She eyes the other woman with a practiced stillness, before walking past her towards her front door, “Come in.”  
“Well don’t sound so excited…” Gwen mumbles as she follows behind, thankful to get under the awning of the porch where she’s careful to leave a respectful distance between them.  
  
She shivers as she watches Mildred fumble with the keys, but can’t tell if it’s the exhaustion of travel, the cold, or the nerves she feels now that she’s here. Perhaps this was all a mistake? Perhaps she had misread the situation? Maybe Mildred had only wanted absolution, not a reunion? And that call was nothing more than to tell her she had - “After you.” Mildred’s soft voice interrupts her spiralling thoughts as she stands before an open door, her face as calm as a frozen lake.  
“Thank you.” She responds, stepping in, hoping she’s doing the right thing, hoping that beneath that still surface, the Mildred she had once known, still loved, existed.  
  
Mildred, for her part, spends every last ounce of energy she has in keeping herself calm, her expectations low. She is Mildred Ratched, after all, and nothing works out for her, not in the long run. She takes a breath as Gwen walks past her into the darkened house and she follows quickly, shutting the door and locking it tight. She swallows and slips the knife out of her hand, onto the side table, and then sets her purse down over it, hoping Gwen didn’t see it, before she turns around. Of course, Gwen saw it. Gwen saw everything when it came to her, or near everything. She stands there and it feels too, too surreal. The rain muffled, the rumble of thunder, the odd flash of lightning illuminating a dripping wet Gwen, who’s staring at her, her eyes roving over every square inch of her, in a way she hadn’t looked at her in the twenty years, since their first kiss, maybe even before that. She can’t recall, her mind is foggy, hazy and as much as she wants to let it wash over and let herself get lost in it, drown in it, she can’t. She won’t. “Let me go get you a towel.” She says, stepping out of her shoes, and walking down the darkened hall.  
  
She doesn’t bother with the lights, opening the first door to her left and pulling a fresh towel from the linen closet, thankful she did laundry on her day off. She doesn’t have much company, everything she had was just enough for her. She returns back to the front door where Gwen stands where she had left her, dripping onto the floor. “Here,” Mildred offers, spreading open the towel and draping it over the woman’s shoulder. “You’ll want to dry your hair before you get sick.” She continues, speaking into the near silence. This all feels very dreamlike and she doesn’t trust any of it. Not the fact that Gwen is here, or the way she’s stepping closer to her, or the way she says “Mildred,” stretching her name out the way she once did, making it sound like music.She doesn’t trust the way the lightning strikes, Gwen, a step away, and now before her. She squeezes her eyes shut, afraid to open them in case this is another dream - she’s had them before, more real than real. She doesn’t trust herself now that she’s leaning into the cold hand upon her cheek, blushing beneath the thumb brushing her lips. She doesn’t trust how easily her body gives, in, her lips parting and lightly trapping the thumb between her teeth like had done so many years before. She doesn’t trust the smile she can’t help but break into or the way her heart just…blooms beneath her breast. “May I?” She opens her eyes to find Gwen smirking at her as she had done before.  
“Gwen,” She sighs, releasing the woman’s thumb.  
“Please?” She asks, eyes shining, even in the dark. Mildred finds herself nodding, holding her breath as Gwen leans in and brushes her lips over hers - once, twice, and then a third time. The towel drops to the ground and Mildred finds herself all but clinging to the other woman’s wet form. She shivers from the cold, yes, but also from the proximity to the other woman, from the charge that runs back and forth from Gwen to Mildred and back again, a loop of desire and sorrow and hunger. Still, after all these years.  
  
She smiles into the kiss and her hand plays with the short hairs at the nape of her neck, so different from the last time, but still so familiar. Everything feels both new and known at the same time and it’s not until they bump into a wall somehow and Gwen mutters a choice word does she believe this is real. “Are you ok?” Gwen asks, pulling her head back from the crook of Mildred’s neck where it had previously been so preoccupied. “Yes,” Mildred sighs, eyes blacker than black in this darkness. She takes Gwen’s face in her hands and holds it for a moment like she had so many times, before she bridges the distance between their lips, placing a firm but chaste kiss, before pulling back, resting her forehead against hers, “Are you?”  
“I’m swell.” Gwen grins back, drunk on this long gone feeling, wrapping her arms around the other woman’s waist, pulling her close.  
“You’re also going to catch your death of cold.” Mildred chastises, “And you’re going to take me with you. Let’s warm you up…” She smiles despite herself, knowing, even after all this time what the other woman’s response will be, “And no,” She places a pointed finger on Gwen’s chest, “Not like that.” Her cheeks hurt, she hasn’t smiled this much, this hard in, God, she can’t remember. A true, real smile, one that finds the tip of her tongue peeking out between her teeth. “The shower is down the hall. Go please.”  
  
She walks away and flips the lights on in the kitchen, squinting at the too-yellow-brightness. “Five minutes in and you’re already bossing me around,” Gwen calls out.  
“You love it.” The words are out of her mouth before she realizes what she’s saying. What she’s said. She freezes for a moment, turning only when she senses Gwen at the doorway of the kitchen, watching her. “I’m sorry.”  
“I do,” Gwen admits softly, “I love it, and I love you.”  
“Gwen.”  
“You don’t - I don’t - I just wanted to put all my cards out there so there’s no wondering, no confusion. Still want me to get into that shower?” She twists her face into an exaggerated look, breaking the tension.  
“Yes.” Mildred answers.  
“Fine. Let me just get my bag from the car.”  
“You can use my things…if you’d like…” She rushes, suddenly terrified that if she leaves, even for a moment, she won’t return.  
“I’ll be right back,” Gwen sends a pointed look in her direction before turning around and heading out the door.

Mildred waits by the kitchen door where Gwen had just stood, her breath all but held until the door opens and a wet Gwen comes back in. It takes everything she has not to run to her, kiss her once more, beg her to never be more than an arms reach away from her. “It’s somehow gotten worse out there if you can believe it?” Gwen laughs, depositing a suitcase by the front door where she carefully closes and locks it as she had seen Mildred do earlier. “Then, by all means, I’m so glad you’re still standing there, wet and dripping.” She remarks, before turning back to the kitchen busying herself with a kettle, with cups. “I’ll make us something to drink - coffee or tea?” She calls out, but there’s no response.  
  
She dips her head out into the hall and feels her mouth dry, her skin blush at the fact that Gwen has left the door half-open as the shower turns on. She can’t see anything, but the thought alone is enough to drive her back to the kitchen where she finds her mind racing from thought to thought that she can’t even keep up. They all just blur and bleed together, not making s- “Penny for your thoughts?” The words surprise her and she wonders how long she’s been standing there, lost in thought. “Sorry, I seem to be starling you a fair bit tonight.”  
“You could say that,” Mildred agrees, unsure of where she should look. Gwen stands before her in her robe, hair slicked back, woollen socks on her feet. She looks absolutely adorable, and yet she can’t help but feel her heart break at how much time had passed between them. “I’m afraid I didn’t pack for seduction,” Gwen blushes, slightly embarrassed, but still holding Mildred’s gaze. “There’s no need to,” Mildred responds softly, forcing herself to keep her own eyes on the other woman.  
  
She had thought if she saw her again, she would never look away, but now that she’s here, now that she can, she finds it’s entirely too much, too overwhelming. It’s only the whistle of the kettle that breaks their stare. “I hope tea’s alright?” She asks, pouring the water.  
“Perfect.”  
“Have you eaten? Can I make you something?” She offers a mug to Gwen, keeping the chipped one for herself.  
“I’m fine,” She accepts the mug with a grateful sigh, wrapping her hands around it. “But please don’t let me keep you from your dinner?”  
“For some reason, I’m not very hungry.”  
“Mildred,” She chastises, knowing how the younger woman’s appetite is the first to go.  
“Gwen.” She warns back, the edge of her voice sharp enough to ease her off the topic. “Well, shall we sit?” She changes the topic, leading the other woman to the living room, where she turns on a few small lamps. She looks around, unsure of where to position herself - does she take the single chair, or would that look too uninviting? Would the couch be too forward? Gwen, however, smiles at her, “Mind if I look around?” She asks politely, “I’m afraid I’ve been sitting for -” She laughs, “Too long to count.”  
“Certainly, but I’m afraid you won’t find much.” She shrugs, still standing, watching the other woman move towards the small set of shelves to one side, still clutching onto the mug. “No, I suppose I won’t,” Gwen agrees, her free hand brushing over the spines of the handful of books on the shelves. “I had rather hoped I had-”  
“Fixed me?” Mildred asks, her voice crystallizing. She doesn’t blink when the thunder crashes overhead.  
“Never,” Gwen turns around, heavy-eyed and stifling a yawn. “I was going to say I had rather hoped after everything you’d have felt safe enough to set down roots.” She is direct, but not unkind. “Even if it’s just a couple of records.”  
“Never saw much point in that.”  
“Hmmm.” She takes a sip of tea and returns to the shelf. “This was always one of my favourites,” She turns back around, holding a battered book of poetry. “I didn’t take you for -” This time, another yawn, too mighty to be held back. “I’m so sorry.”  
“You’re exhausted,” Mildred realizes, noticing the dark bags under the woman’s eyes, “Gwen, you didn’t drive all the way from San Francisco, did you?”  
“No, nothing so crazy…” She smiles before taking another sip… “What?” She asks, confused by the questioning stare. “I drove from Portland where I flew in.” Another wordless look, “Where I flew in from New York.”  
“New York?”  
“And before that London.” She admits.  
“Gwendolyn Briggs,” Mildred puts down her mug and crosses the room, taking the other woman’s mug, “You must be exhausted!”  
“No, I’m fine, I promise,” She runs a firm hand up and down Mildred’s arm.  
“You can hardly stand, I’m surprised you didn’t keel over in the shower,” Mildred argues, setting the mug down beside hers. “Come along, let’s get you to bed.” She doesn’t say anything about how Gwen slides her hand down into hers, only holding onto it loosely as she turns off the lamps, leaving the mugs where they sit, and leads her down to the darkened hall, to the second door on the left.  
  
“Let me just get my nightgown and then you can sleep,” She says, moving about, trying to ignore the fact that Gwen is here, Gwen is in her bedroom, Gwen is holding her hand, their fingers laced together. “And what will you do?” She asks, voice soft, the way she used to speak to her when she knew Mildred was on edge.  
“I’ll take the couch?” Mildred answers, as if it was obvious, stepping out of Gwen’s grasp on her hand to collect her nightgown from under her pillow before she fluffs them, smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle from the bedspread. “I was hoping you’d stay with me,” Gwen says, stepping closer to the anxious woman without crowding her.  
“Did you?” She half scoffs, unable to contain herself as she turns around to face the other woman who seems to glow as if lit by moonlight, even in this dim light. She doesn’t even blink in the face of Gwen’s wince when the tone lands on her.  
“Just sleep.” The other woman counters, taking a small, purposeful step forward. Mildred sees what she’s doing, sees the way she’s dealing with her, with care, like she had all those years before, and just like all those years before, she’s unsure what to do with it, how to receive it or trust it. “Just sleep,” She repeats again, raising her hand to touch the ends of Mildred’s hair, now more brown than auburn, shorter than she’s ever seen it.  
“I cut it. More practical.” She explains, head reeling from the touch, from the smell of her soap on the other woman’s skin.  
“I like it.” Gwen shrugs, standing there.  
“I need to go wash my face.” Mildred counters.  
“Oh.” Gwen drops her hand.  
“And then I’ll be back.”  
“Oh,” The delight evident.  
“Oh.” Mildred teases, unable to resist herself before walking past her, “Get into bed and make yourself comfortable.”  
“How can I if you’re all the way over there?” Gwen calls out down the hall, a shiver of joy, sheer, stupid, exhilarating joy spreading through her. She has wanted one more night with Mildred since she had disappeared and now she’s about to slip into bed with her.  
  
She stands and looks around, careful not to pry, not to intrude. She runs a hand over the edge of the vanity, her fingers toying with the half-empty bottle of L'Air du Temps. A creature of habit, almost to a fault. Her heart sinks at that, that Mildred’s habit will always be to run, to be distrusting, to be on her own. To-  
“Still awake?” Mildred asks.  
“Mmmm?” Gwen asks, her hand falling on the back of the vanity chair. “Oh,” She looks up at Mildred, standing there in a simple white nightgown and it’s as if they’re both young again. It’s only when she goes to release her hold on the chair does she spot the ratty brown sweater hanging off the back of it. “So that’s where my sweater went.”  
“I don’t know what you mean,” Mildred lies, ignoring the sweater as she pulls back the covers of the bed.  
“Isn’t it awfully early for you to asleep?” Gwen asks, changing the topic.  
“It’s been a long day.” She admits, “Joining me?”  
“I’m afraid as soon as I touch the bed, I’ll pass out.”  
“Yes, that’s usually the point.” She smirks as she gets in on the left side, leaving the right for her guest. “When did you last sleep?”  
“For more than an hour or two? Oh,” Gwen brings a hand to her forehead, “I can’t remember. Monday? Sunday?”  
“It’s Thursday Gwen, come to bed.” Mildred is sitting upright in bed, her hands in her lap as if at a tea dance waiting on being asked to dance. Her hair is down and all Gwen wants to do is crawl towards her, rest against her and sleep, but finds herself gripped with terror. What is she doing? Why does she think she can do this? Be with Mildred again and survive?  
  
“Oh Gwen,” Mildred sighs, catching sight of the sudden change in her demeanour. She pushes back the covers and rises, turning off the light and letting their eyes both acclimate to the darkness before she reaches a hand out to the other woman, landing it softly upon her breast where she wordlessly counts along with the rapid beats until she feels them slow back to normal. She wishes she could say something to comfort Gwen, comfort both of them, but she has no words, no actions she can do other than draw the other woman to her body and hold her close. She wraps her arms around her and they both just stand there for a moment, breathing against each other, letting their bodies remember what it felt like to be this close again. “Let’s get you into bed, shall we?” Mildred asks again, softly, as if speaking to a child, before she places a tender kiss on Gwen’s forehead and pulls back before she breaks. She undoes the belt of the robe and is thankful when she takes it off herself, placing it on the back of the vanity chair. “Come on,” Mildred walks her to the right side of the bed and helps her get in before she walks over to her own side and gets back in.   
  
They lie side by side, almost but not quite touching for a few agonizing minutes - each listening to the rain and the other’s careful and measured breathing - before Gwen’s hand finds its way over to hers beneath the covers. She pauses there for a moment, and then hooks her pinky to Mildred’s and lets it rest there.  
  
That’s it.  
  
That’s all that’s needed to break Mildred’s reserves. Before she knows it, she rolls over into Gwen’s open arms and finds herself buried in her beloved’s breast. When she had first met Gwen, she had hated how the other woman made her feel, as if she was always on the verge of something. She hated how every meeting left her with her breath quickening, her pulse erratic. She hated it, until she found she couldn’t live without it, and even then, she hated that she needed it. The three years they were together, Mildred hated herself for this, she hated that weakness within her and then suddenly, when she left it was gone. At first, she was **_thrilled_** , overjoyed she no longer had that nervous reaction whenever someone walked around the corner. She no longer had to tamp down her desires in case someone saw, because there was no longer any desires, not really. Soon after that though she started feeling…less. Her face would contort into approximations of emotions but even that started to fade until she found she was simply there, existing, and impenetrable. A sort of shell shock, you could say. Even Edmund’s execution - something that should’ve horrified her - failed to stir more than a passing thought of relief once he was unstrapped from the chair, confirmed dead. Not even his screams as the cyanide crystals began to mix into the sulphuric acid and water combined to create the lethal hydrocyanic gas elicited more than a blink of her lashes. She had heard worse in the wards - the screams of those who were afraid of surviving were worse than those who were afraid of death.  
  
All of this to say that, Gwen, in her bed with her arms open, is entirely too much, too overwhelming for her. There are too many things to think, to feel. She’s going to have to wash everything tomorrow, she thinks in the back of her mind as she buries her nose deeper into the warm space between her shoulder and her neck. She’s going to have to get rid of this scent. She doesn’t cry - she doesn’t think she can anymore, doesn’t think she knows how - but wishes she could, wishes she did. She vaguely remembers her first time being in Gwen’s arms, the way she clung to her body as they kissed, finally kissed. She remembers how it was all too much love, too much desire, too much light and touch and too, too much everything - she remembers how overwhelming it was. What she wouldn’t give to be able to feel more than a drop of that now. She just nestles herself deeper into Gwen’s embrace, lets herself feel what she can, lets Gwen’s murmurs and her love wash over her like the sound of the rain on the roof, the windows. She won’t sleep much tonight, and tomorrow will be hard, but she wants to remember every moment of this - every raindrop and rustle, every texture from the sheets to Gwen’s nightgown to her hair beneath her fingertips - so that when Gwen leaves (and she will leave, because how could she stay?), she can recall it, recreate it, remember that for one evening, she was capable of being loved, of loving, once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **b:** The title is from Neko Case’s beautiful ‘I Wish I Was the Moon Tonight’ _“Chimney falls as lovers blaze // I thought that I was young // Now I've freezing hands and bloodless veins // As numb as I've become // I'm so tired // I wish I was the moon tonight”_  
>  **c:** Bromden, aka ‘Chief’ who escaped at the end of ‘Cuckoo’s Nest’  
>  **d:** y'all. **y'aaaaaaaaaaaaaall**. You don't understand how much your kind words have meant to me. At all. I can't even express how thankful I am for each and every one of you.


	8. i still dreamed of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She holds Gwen’s tired gaze in hers and lets her see everything. She’s doubtful if there’s even anything left inside her, anything good that is, but knows if there is, Gwendolyn Briggs is about the only person on earth who would ever see it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **a:** Just a warning that things get a little...adult in this chapter. I didn't mean for it to, they just kind of did their own thing and you know what, I let them.

* * *

_December 1966 - Salem, OR  
  
_ Something’s not right.  
  
Mildred’s eyes fly awake and she bolts up in bed - her mind and heart racing. She reaches under her mattress for another knife, her fingers wrapping around the cool handle before she realizes everything’s fine.  
  
Everything is fine.  
  
Everything is fine.  
  
She sees Gwen’s robe on her bed and remembers the other woman’s there with her… except when she turns, she sees an empty bed. She touches it briefly, it’s cool. She slips the knife back where it lives before she rises and slips into her own robe before she takes Gwen’s in her hand and makes her way down the hall. She checks in the kitchen, but there’s no one in there. Did she leave? Mildred wouldn’t have blamed h- “I’m still here.” Gwen’s voice reassures her from where she sits in the living room, bathed in the cool blue of pre-dawn light coming in from the opened curtains. Mildred yawns and heads into the living room where she finds Gwen seated on the couch, a throw wrapped over her as she stares out the window. “It stopped raining.”  
“Is that what woke you up?” Mildred asks, uncertain where to sit once more.  
“No,” Gwen half-smiles up at her before she opens the blanket, “Join me?”  
“I…” Mildred isn’t sure. Yesterday was yesterday, and today is today - the weakness she allowed for herself yesterday couldn’t carry into to today.  
“Please?” Gwen asks, exhaustion evident all over her face.  
“Did you sleep at all?” Mildred asks, settling into the other woman’s space, her back leaning against her chest, wrapped in wool and warmth and arms.  
“Some.” She murmurs in her ear, placing a soft kiss against her hair.  
“What woke you?” She opts to not chastise the other woman, uses what Gwen used to do for her on her. “Jet lag?”  
“You can’t hear the ocean from here.”  
“No,” She answers, “It’s about a two-hour drive.”  
“Mmmm.”  
  
Gwen feels her body relax now that Mildred’s resting against her. She doesn’t know how to explain that it’s the fact that it was the ocean that woke her.  
  
Or the lack of it. She doesn’t know which.  
  
She remembers the dream, she’s treading water on a perfectly still sea, frantically looking for Mildred but everywhere she turns there’s just water, no shore. She remembers telling herself it was a dream-like the Doctor taught her, but knowing it’s a dream never makes it easier. It just makes it even more terrifying. All she can feel is the cold water, her muscles exhausted, her head sinking beneath the small waves her limbs are making. The more she struggles to stay afloat, to look for Mildred, the weaker her limbs get, the louder the water gets, the more she chokes until she wakes… This time, in a strange bed, with a strange Mildred beside her, and a strange silence. It is a strange silence.  
  
She had laid in bed for a moment, trying to recall the last time she had heard silence like this with the other woman, but couldn’t. For the brief duration of their relationship, there had always been the ocean, or birds in the neighbour’s trees, cars backfiring - something. Waking up to the silence felt too much like death, too much like the world closing in around her, and turning to see Mildred curled up beside her was too much like a dream. It all feels like a dream, even this - sitting here with the other woman leaning against her. None of it feels real. She had, for a minute, entertained the idea of driving to the ocean and walking in, just to feel something real. She was an English major - she knows what the ocean means, she knows who the ocean is.  
  
“You’re thinking.” Mildred points out, pulling her knees up onto the couch.  
“I am.”  
“What about?”  
“A dream.” She places another kiss on the other woman’s hair and tries not to take a deep lungful of her sleepy scent.  
“Come back to bed?” Mildred asks.  
“I’m afraid I’ll keep you awake. You go back to sleep.”  
“I’m not the one who needs sleep.” She turns to face Gwen. “Besides, I don’t mind being kept awake.” There is no smile, there is no smirk, there is none of the usual hallmarks of Mildred’s previous efforts at seduction, there’s no need for them right now, she doesn’t know if she’d even remember how. She only holds Gwen’s tired gaze in hers and lets her see everything. She’s doubtful if there’s even anything left inside her, anything good that is, but knows if there is, Gwendolyn Briggs is about the only person on earth who would ever see it. She shivers, but not from the cold, and Gwen tightens her grip on her. “I’ve missed you.” Gwen confesses softly, “So, so much.”  
“I’m sorry.” She doesn’t lower her gaze, lets Gwen see her contrition.  
“No. Not right now.”  
“All right.”  
“I know we need to talk about it,” Gwen tucks a strand of Mildred’s hair behind her ear, “But I can barely speak I’m so tired, and I suspect you’ve got work soon.”  
“I can call out sick.” She offers, leaning into Gwen’s palm, now resting against her cheek.  
“Mildred Ratched? Playing truant?” Gwen fake gasps, “Why I never!”  
“I can, Gwen, if you’d like.”  
“No d-dear.” They both ignore that slip, “No need. Go to work.”  
“Will you be here when I get back?”  
“If you’ll have me?”  
“I’ll have you.” She tries to smile but finds she can’t beyond a small lift to the corners of her mouth. What if Gwen’s not here when she comes back? What if this is all some sort of elaborate…something? A punishment or a trap or something. Her mind begins to calculate all the ways this could go so, so wrong. She’s so lost in thought she doesn’t realize Gwen’s moved in to kiss her until she feels her forehead against hers, her gentle smile suddenly all she can see. “I’ll be here when you get back Mildred. I promise.”  
“You always keep your promises, don’t you?” Mildred asks, reassuring herself.  
“I do.” And with that, Gwen bridges the inches between their lips and gently kisses her.  
  
Perhaps it was the sweetness of the kiss or the tenderness of the way Gwen touches her - Mildred doesn’t know what it is, but this kiss is different from yesterdays. There’s no desperation, in fact, it’s as if they have all the time in the world. Mildred tries to shift to get closer, but ends up getting tangled in the blanket and Gwen can’t help but break the kiss to laugh at her frustrated grunt. “Hang on,” She sighs, sorting out her limbs from Mildred’s from the blanket until Mildred finds herself seated on Gwen’s lap, half-reclining against the arm of the sofa, the blanket wrapped around both of them. “Better?” Gwen asks, smiling down at her.  
“Much.” She sighs as she guide’s the other woman’s head to hers. She had forgotten how it had felt to be held. To have Gwen this close, and still not close enough. How delicious it felt to have Gwen’s hair tickle her nose as she moves from her lips to her jaw, to her neck. To have her skin peppered with kisses and nips, her pulse throbbing beneath the other woman’s lips. She has forgotten what it had been like to have her hands full of Gwen, her fingers digging and flexing and scrabbling about to just touch her, to just touch anything, do anything to get closer to the other woman.It’s overwhelming, yes, to have her senses suddenly taken over by familiar things, but it’s beautiful too, her body slowly remembering how it loved to be lavished upon by Gwen. How it loved to arch itself to press further against her, how her fingers missed the soft strands between them, how her heart, oh how her heart aches against her ribs, straining with effort. Gwen pulls her head up and Mildred can’t help but sigh again at their distance. “Is this ok?” She asks, and her heart swells again.  
“Yes.” She answers, lolling her head back against the armrest. “Is it all right with you?”  
“More than,” Gwen smiles, her hand running over the body laying on her lap, watching it shiver beneath her touch. “When do you have to leave for work?” She asks, before laughing at the face Mildred pulls, “What? I don’t want to start anything we won’t have time to finish.”  
“That’s never stopped you before.” Mildred comments, holding the other woman’s gaze as she stretches her arms above her head slowly, knowing how Gwen loved to watch her do that in the past.  
“Temptress.”  
“You certainly are.” Mildred teases before she checks the watch on her wrist, “I have to leave in forty-three minutes.”  
“So precise, Ms. Ratched.”  
“Always.”  
“How much time does that leave us right now?” Gwen asks, her fingers toying with the ends of Mildred’s hair.  
“Thirteen minutes.”  
“I’d better make them count then.” Gwen returns her attentions to Mildred, eyes darkening as she lowers her head back Mildred’s body, resuming the path her lips were on, from her neck to the hollows of her clavicle down to where the nightgown dips revealing the smooth expanse of skin and frustratingly no further. “I have half a mind to tear this off,” Gwen murmurs into her body.  
“But if you did, I’d never leave.”  
“I’m having a hard time seeing a downside of that right now.” Gwen counters, ghosting her hands, her lips over the cotton fabric, teasing with her teeth until there’s a taut tip of the breast. She grins as she hears Mildred gasping her name, her hands pushing her head even lower, even closer. She ducks her head out of the other woman’s grasp and places a chase kiss on her lips, “I’m afraid time’s up.”  
“Gwen,” Mildred glares from where she lays, brown eyes black, skin flushed, breath ragged. “You can’t leave me like this…” She pleads, knowing somewhere in the back of her mind there’s an irony there, but she’s too undone to think about it. To care.  
“Can’t I?” She asks.  
“Sixteen years Gwen. Sixteen years of wanting you, of imagining you, of only you.” She hates herself for being this weak. For needing her this much. But her body is now moving on its own, writhing and gasping in its sudden need for the other woman. “Please.”  
“Did you mean it when you said no one?” Gwen asks, dead serious.  
“No one Gwen. I couldn’t even bear the thought, of anyone but you.” She answers, on the verge of frustrated tears. She can’t hear anything, see anything, think about anything but the woman by her side. She can hardly breathe, her desire too thick, too heavy. It has been years since she’s felt anything even approximating this level of want, of wetness, of need. “Gwen, please.” She hates herself for begging, and she hates Gwen for making her wait, for making her beg, she hates everything right now.  
  
Everything.

The way her hips are moving, her back arching, her toes aching from curling. “Inside me, please.” She locks her eyes on the other woman’s. “I need you.”  
“You only have to ask, Mildred,” Gwen whispers, her heart breaking at hearing her lover’s ragged voice, but also flying at seeing her like this, laying before her, needing her, begging her. Every dream she had had for the last sixteen years seeming to come true. Every day for sixteen years she had thought about this, or not thought about this, the conscious act of not thinking about it in and of itself thinking about it. She has wanted Mildred back in her arms, would’ve given her life for it, (has given her life for it in some ways) for one more chance to see her, and now she will deny her nothing. Her hand fights its way through the gathers of her nightgown and her fingers push aside the sodden mess of cotton. “Oh, my darling girl.” She slides three fingers in, no need for foreplay when they are both so, so ready for release. There are no words - what words can be said? They simply let their bodies become reunited with each other, their eyes seeing nothing but the other. Mildred’s body continues to rock against Gwen’s curled hand, her fingers relishing in being back in their rightful place. Gwen’s free hand is tangled in Mildred’s hair and she knows she’s being foolish with her heart, but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care about anything except for the fact that she is with Mildred, her Mildred. Mildred, who’s eyes are looking at her, but see nothing beyond her want. Mildred, whose lips are parted because of her, wet because of her. Mildred, who’s body is crying out for her. When she told Trevor all those years ago she could not get Mildred out of her mind, her body, she meant it. Every day that passed between them, she somehow worked her way deeper and deeper into her heart, a splinter that she could not get out. She feels a scrabbling hand on her knee and knows her love is close. She can see it in the way her head leans back, her breath ragged and staccato, the way her heels dig into the cushion and her knees and hips rise. She can feel it in the way her wetness tightens tightens tightens around her fingers. The way her face screws up and her teeth bite down on her lip until there’s the metallic smell of blood. “Please, my darling girl. Please.” She murmurs, her hand matching the pace set by Mildred’s body until everything stops.   
  
Everything.   
  
Time and sound and movement and hearts and the world. It all just stops as Mildred goes limp in Gwen’s arms, eyes open, but unseeing. “Mildred?” She asks after a moment after she remembers to breathe herself, “Mildred, are you all right?” The woman looks at her and nods, mutely. Gwen pulls her hand out and the smell of sex fills the room. “Darling, please say something?” Nothing. “Mildred, Mildred, where are you?” She’s worried now, but Mildred stares at her, just stares at her - and then it’s like the dam breaks. Mildred scrambles to sit up and takes Gwen’s face in both hands and kisses her hard until it’s almost painful. “Here with you,” She answers into their kiss, “I’m here with you.” Gwen can taste tears, and the blood from Mildred’s bitten lip, and her sleepy breath and it’s suddenly overwhelming. Mildred is everywhere. Every sense is nothing but Mildred and soon she can’t tell who’s breath, who’s murmurs, who’s heartbeats are whose. Nothing matters other than this moment and she’s suddenly she’s exhausted beyond measure, the last week suddenly catching up to her. She feels herself slump against Mildred, their kiss interrupted by a yawn. “Oh Gwen, you’re about to pass out, aren’t you?”  
“I’m fine,” She argues, but she knows she’s not.  
“You’re shaking from exhaustion. Let’s get you to bed?”  
“We don’t have time, you have work.” She argues weakly, but her eyes can’t seem to stay open and she feels something warm settle around her shoulders.  
“For sleep, Gwen. I can’t have you falling asleep on me when I finally get my turn.”   
“Your turn?” She asks, prying her eyes open to smile at her lover.  
“My turn Gwen. You have no idea, no idea, how I want you.” She confesses. “But first, I need you to sleep.” She eases herself up off the other woman with a groan. “I hate to say it, but I think I’m getting too old for making love on couches like we used to.” She gently tugs Gwen upwards. “Come on.”  
“If you’re too old, what does that make me?” Gwen argues, her eyes still only half-open, letting Mildred guide her to the bedroom.  
“Perfect.”  
“Liar.” She shoots back as she settles back into the cold bed, letting Mildred tuck the covers around her. “Have I made you late for work?”  
“Terribly, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She answers, tenderness in every word as she watches Gwen drift off to sleep.  
  
She moves swiftly through her morning rituals now, her (now necessary) shower, drying her hair, applying her make up, changing into her uniform. She will lie and say there was an accident, no, that the power went out at her house. She’s punctual to a fault, so this will be believed. She takes one more look at the sleeping woman in her bed and worries that this will be like the last time. The last time she saw Gwen, sleeping, but she assures herself she will be back at the end of the day. That there is no force left on earth that could keep her away. “I’m leaving for work Gwen.” She whispers softly, running a hand through the sleeping woman’s hair.  
“Mmmk. Promise to come back to me, darling girl?” Gwen asks, eyes still closed as she takes Mildred’s hand and kisses it before falling back asleep.  
“Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **b:** The title is from Future Islands' 'Little Dreamer' and y'all. Y'all. What this song does to my heart... And how beautifully it fits... I can't *swoons*
> 
> "I caught you sleeping here, all wrapped in wool // I caught you sleeping here, almost broke my heart // I found you dreaming // I'm dreaming of you always, always
> 
> When I was just a child, a lonely boy // I held onto my dreams, like they could run from me // The hopes I harboured fled - as they often do // But I still dreamed of you //And now my dream's come true"


	9. interlude - the day before you came

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She continues to go out with every intelligent woman, beautiful woman, charming woman who crossed her path for the next fifteen years until suddenly it’s a beautiful September in 1966 and Trevor and Andrew sit her down in the backyard over coffee one evening as they listen to the radio and tell her Mildred Ratched has returned.

* * *

_September 1951 - San Francisco, CA  
  
_He’s waiting for her at the airport, leaning against the wall, a bouquet of hydrangeas in his hand. “There she is,” He greets her, arms open and she wordlessly falls into his warm hug. They both of them ignoring the looks they receive from the others milling about the gate because despite it being San Francisco, it is still only 1951, their wedding only legally valid two years ago. “I’ve got you,” He murmurs into her ear softly, letting her just breathe him in before he pulls back, letting her collapse in his arms for just a moment before she has to pull herself together. “Let’s look at you.” He eyes her top to bottom, motioning her to spin around, as he did so often when he helped her with her suits for work, “Well, your little sojourn down south certainly did wonders for you, you’ve never looked better, love.” He hands her the flowers, “Here, congratulations on not dying.”  
“Thanks,” She grins at her husband with a wry smile. “And don’t think I don’t know what these mean…”  
“I wouldn’t have married you if you hadn’t.” He teases. “Shall we?”  
  
They collect her bags, the rest of her belongings being shipped or abandoned in Mexico, and head into the city, sun shining down brightly upon them. “Andy wishes he could’ve been here, but he had to go back home to take care of some things.”  
“Nothing serious, I hope?”  
“Mmmmh. He isn’t sure. But he’ll be back in a month or so.”  
“So I get my husband all to myself for a month?”  
“Lucky you,” He pulls off the highway and slows down as he makes his way down to Noe Valley. “I hope you’ll like what we did with the place. We left your unit pretty simple, I assume you wanted to pretend to have some input when I do it up?” He teases her as he pulls into the driveway of a beautifully restored old Victorian, cream coloured with gold trim and leaded glass windows. “Oh Trevor,” She gasps, “It’s beautiful, the pictures don’t do it justice!”  
“You’re right, as always. It **_is_** beautiful, and they certainly **_don’t_** do it justice.” He hops out and helps her out of the car. “Do you like it though? Seriously? And lie if you don’t.”  
“I love it!” She beams at him before throwing her arms around him.  
  
“Well, this must be the Mrs.?” A loud voice booms from behind them.  
“A neighbour, harmless but chatty,” Trevor explains quietly before they turn around and walk over to the short fence. “Yes, Mr. James, hello. This is Gwendolyn, my wife.”  
“How do you do, Mr. James? It’s **_so_** nice to meet you.” Gwen greets him, shaking the elderly man’s hand over the fence.  
“It’s nice to meet you too young lady. We had begun to think you didn’t exist. You were away? For your health?”  
“I was, yes.” She holds her smile longer, “Just got back this morning.”  
“Well, you look fine, just fine.”  
“Thank you!”  
“And your husband did a magnificent job, didn’t he? With the house? Him and his friend, the other gentleman, your brother?”  
“Yes, my brother.” She smoothly lies, eyes only slightly widening at this.  
“Well Mr. James, I hate to do this, but Gwen should really go rest and lie down after that journey. Wouldn’t want you to get sick again dear.” Trevor interrupts, “But we’ll be sure to have you and Mrs. James over for dinner just as soon as Gwen is up to it, won’t we dear?”  
“Absolutely. It was so nice to meet you, Sir.” Gwen smiles, before being led into the house by her husband where she has the good sense to wait for the door to close before bursting out into peals of laughter, “My **_brother_**? Andrew’s supposed to be my **_brother_**?!”  
“People were asking questions and he panicked.” Trevor explains, hanging up his coat, “Besides, it’s not like we said he was **_my_** brother.”  
“God, imagine the questions **_that_** would’ve raised?” She giggles, trying to imagine them passing off the 6’ tall nordic blonde as Trevor’s brother. “Speaking of, how did the neighbourhood respond…?” She asks, her tone shifting to something a little more serious.  
“To my black self moving in? With my white ‘brother’? And a missing wife?”  
“Yes, all that.”  
“Come, I’ll make us some coffee and I’ll tell you **_all_** about it.”  
  
And so, this was how Gwen returns to California, how she begins her life after Mildred. They share their lives and the house, split into two units behind the front door, with Andrew and Trevor in one, and Gwen in the other. They have their coffee, breakfasts in the backyard, which has had high trees planted all along the fences as they had had back in their old house. This isn’t their old house though, and this isn’t their old life. This life of theirs is something entirely new and curious, an effort to keep up with the times which are moving rapidly into modernity, sweeping them with it.  
  
They were a handsome couple, Trevor and Gwen, smart and witty and very cosmopolitan. Together with her ‘ _brother_ ’, the three soon find doors opening to them publicly and privately. Between Andrew’s charm, Trevor’s rising star at the law firm, and Gwen’s own job at City Hall (not to mention her newfound wealth), they find themselves on the shadowy edges of the movements that were shaping Gay Liberation. They are smart enough and discreet enough to keep their names out of the arrest records and the newspapers, but connected enough to do what they could: bail funds paid off anonymously here and there, a word in the right ear to get records expunged, legal precedents and sympathetic or ambitious lawyers suggested discreetly. The Mattachine Society, the Daughters of Bilitis and the handful of groups that rose up, combined, fell apart and reformed in their wake, together, the three of them had their ears open and their hands in all of them in untraceable ways.Over the next fifteen years, they build a life for themselves, delicate, but directed, all of them working towards the common goal of a future where there would be no need for such subterfuge. It wasn’t just Gay Liberation they were working towards, but the rights of all individuals, all people, to be who they were, and to be with whoever they wanted to be with, which drove them.  
  
It could be lonely for Gwen, for no matter how much Andy and Trevor included her in their plans, it always came with a twinge of pain beneath or behind the scar in her breast. A small but visible reminder that her time with Mildred Ratched was real, that for one brief moment she had what Andy and Trevor had, she had had love, and she had had happiness, and she had had that most curious and rare creature, Mildred Ratched.  
  
This isn’t to say that Gwen had been alone during this time, no, far from it. Over the years Gwen would be joined by some beautiful woman or another, but they would never stay long or visit often. It wasn’t for lack of trying on their parts either, Gwen was attractive and charming, and smart. She was wealthy, and she was a brilliant dance partner. She knew all the right places in the city and Tahoe (not to mention Reno, Monterey and everywhere in between), but no woman ever kept her interest for long, and that was fine (was what she told herself). She still had a good life, a good job, friends who loved her and whom she loved - she was happy enough, satisfied enough. She had more than most could dream of, and to want more, to want what she could never have, that would be too much, wouldn’t it? It would be too greedy. So she continues to go out with every intelligent woman, beautiful woman, charming woman who crossed her path for the next fifteen years until suddenly it’s a beautiful September in 1966 and Trevor and Andrew sit her down in the backyard over coffee one evening as they listen to the radio and tell her Mildred Ratched has returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **a:** The title is from ABBA's 'The Day Before You Came', which is both lovely and ominous and like, can we all agree Benny & Bjorn were some god-tier writers  
>  **b:** Yes, there was a time (in the not so distant past even) where people could walk you to your airport gate, or meet you there... It's weird to think about, but true.  
>  **c:** Hydrangeas can mean fickle or coldheartedness, but also enduring or persevering love. Regardless of how you choose to interpret it, they are known for conveying heartfelt and earnest emotions of any kind. They're also so, so pretty.  
>  **d** Gay Liberation being the preferred term at the time.  
>  **e:** The Mattachine Society, the Daughters of Bilitis are both definitely worth a read about both groups if you’re into the history of the lgbtq+ movements
> 
> And lastly:  
>  **f:** Y’all. 
> 
> Y’all. 
> 
> I don’t really do emotions, so forgive me that I cannot fully express how **thankful** I am for every single person who’s messaged or commented, or kudos’ed this story. I’ll be honest, I’m kind of going through some stuff (and it’ll all come out ok in the end :) but your kindness and thoughtfulness in sharing your words with me is beyond incredible. If I could, I would send each of you a thank you note in a pretty card with like, a wax seal on it, or something grand to convey how much I appreciate you all taking the time and just saying something. You'll never know how much I appreciate it and how much I appreciate **you**.


	10. it’s not easy for me, it's not safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She looks up at Gwen and is caught off guard by her smile - even after all these years, she still suspects that Gwen is not fully human, but rather a descendant of a nymph or naiad - some part of her was made of pure sunlight, her smile so bright it was like staring at the sun. She can’t help returning the smile, letting Gwen pull her back in for another languid kiss. “What was that for?” She asks quietly when the kiss ends.  
> “Because I could.”

* * *

_December 1966 - Salem, OR  
  
_Mildred doesn’t recognize the house as she pulls up to it that night. The lights are on and there’s a wreath hanging from the front door. Perhaps it’s because she’s tired and sore, but as excited as she is to go home to Gwen, she’s also anxious, aggravated. What if the neighbours saw this strange woman putting up decorations? Or coming and going - and where did she even get that from?  
  
She makes her way towards her house, pausing at the front door - should she knock? Should she ring the bell? She doesn’t want to startle Gwen, especially given the music’s so loud that she could hear from the front porch. She raises a hand and gently touches the evergreen branches bundled into a circle, a plain red ribbon bow on it. It was simple and lovely, and it settles her heart and her nerves. This was very much what life with Gwen had been like, hadn’t it? These little surprises? Touches of thoughtfulness, small details that are unnecessary, but somehow so important. This is what Gwen was like.  
  
She opens the door and her home is so different from the winter night she’s leaving behind her - there’s music playing, and the smell of something delicious coming from the kitchen. It’s warm and it’s brighter than she can remember it ever being and she can just spot Gwen moving back and forth between the kitchen and the dining area. It’s like being welcomed home, in her own house, which has never, **_ever_** felt this inviting, this safe.  
  
Mildred is struck with an overwhelming sense of sorrow.

She wants to yell but knows she could never. She wants to grab Gwen and tell her how dangerous all of this is. Anyone could come in and she would never hear it, never see it. Happiness is a danger to them. She wants to cry because she should be happy, she should want to take Gwen into her arms and tell her thank you, and she can’t do anything but freeze where she stands, collecting herself and her emotions. Isn’t this exactly what she had always wanted? For both herself and for Gwen? For Gwen to never know the fear of being preyed upon? Of needing to live her life like -  
  
“Darling?”  
  
She flinches, when she realizes Gwen is standing before her, eyes gazing at her with concern. The music is suddenly much lower. How long had she stood there? “Darling, are you all right?” Gwen asks again, taking another small step closer, still leaving room between them, knowing that even after all this time, Mildred abhors being penning in, feeling trapped. “I’m sorry, yes,” Mildred answers, shaking her head to clear it. Knowing it’s safe to approach now, Gwen steps to her, placing a gentle hand on her cheek and kissing her lightly. “Welcome home, I wasn’t sure when to expect you so you caught me a little off guard.” She helps Mildred take her coat off, offers an arm as Mildred slips out of her winter shoes. “How was your day?”  
“Fine. Busy,” Mildred answers cautiously, eyeing their arms Gwen’s linked together, before slowly walking into the living room, “Clearly not as busy as yours…”  
“It’s amazing what a few hours of sleep will do for a woman.” Gwen shrugs. “I woke up and decided I was going to make us some dinner, so I went out to that store, Fred Somethings, and they had all sorts of Christmas things out, and I figured I would maybe pick up one or two things…”  
“One or two things?” She eyes the pile of boxes, large and small, in the corner of the room, not to mention the string lights strewn about the fireplace mantel,“Gwen, I’m surprised you didn’t pick up a tree!” She sees the other woman blush brightly, “You didn’t, did you?”  
“It may be in the garage,” Gwen answers cautiously. “You always loved Christmas and hadn’t decorated yet and I thought that maybe we could decorate together and then by the time I got here, I realized I was probably being too presumptive and maybe you had plans or -” She finds her words cut off by a swift, hard kiss, of being pushed back against the dining table, of the clatter of cutlery and plates being jostled aside as she seats herself on the table, finds Mildred nestling herself carefully between her legs. The kiss moves from swift and unyielding to slow and lazy, almost tender their arms slung over shoulders and around waists until they have both ( _temporarily_ ) had their fill of each other.  
  
“I just wanted to make you happy,” Gwen murmurs, her hands playing with the ends of Mildred’s hair. Mildred had forgotten how much Gwen liked to do things like this, do silly, foolish things just to see her smile. Just so she wouldn’t have to do them herself, knowing very well she wouldn’t. “You have,” Mildred admits.  
“Have I?” She doesn’t look convinced.  
“You have.” Mildred’s mouth curls up in the corners, but it fails to reach her eyes. “Gwen,” She unhooks her arms from Gwen’s shoulders, steps back, “I should - I should change before dinner. It smells wonderful.” Those are not the words she was going to say, and both of them know it. The air grows a little thicker with tension.  
“Is this too much?” Gwen asks. Coming from anyone else, it would sound like a threat, but Mildred can hear the concern in her voice, can see it in her eyes. “I know you like your routine and my presence is…”  
“Gwen,” Mildred answers, cutting her off again, “I just…” She pauses for a moment, “Need time to adjust to this. To having you here,” She reaches out and laces their fingers together for a moment, “To a lot of things. Do you remember the first few weeks at your house when I would just catch you staring at me, and would ask you why? I understand now. I understand what it means to want something so much and for so long, that once you have it, you don’t know what to do with it.” She squeezes their clasped hands, can’t help but stare at them as she spoke, “But I assure you, I want you here.” She raises her eyes to find Gwen staring intently at her, Besides, there’s no one I’d rather decorate a Christmas tree with than with you.”  
“Really?”  
“Really.” She looks up at Gwen and is caught off guard by her smile - even after all these years, she still suspects that Gwen is not fully human, but rather a descendant of a nymph or naiad - some part of her was made of pure sunlight, her smile so bright it was like staring at the sun. She can’t help returning the smile, letting Gwen pull her back in for another languid kiss. “What was that for?” She asks quietly when the kiss ends.  
“Because I could.” She places a quick peck on her lips and then gently pushes her away before she hops off the table, begins to fix the settings once more. “Now go change, so we can eat dinner.”  
  
“What did you make?” Mildred asks as she walks into her bedroom, “It smells delicious.”  
“A stew,” Gwen calls out from the kitchen. “Did you want some wine?”  
“Just a little, thank you.” She responds. She doesn’t drink much anymore, except the evening after Edmund’s death, when she killed an entire bottle of bourbon in his honour. It still doesn’t feel safe. Nothing feels safe. She slips into a simple emerald green shift and she wraps Gwen’s old cardigan over it to keep the winter chill at bay. She dabs some perfume on, touches up her lipstick and then eyes herself in the mirror and sighs at the toll fifteen years has taken on her body and her face. She runs a brush through her hair, wishes she hadn’t cut her hair, wishes it was long enough to-  
“Your wine.” Gwen leans into the bedroom, offering her a glass.  
“I was just…” She blushes at being caught primping and then gives up, taking the glass from her hand, “Thank you.”  
“You look beautiful.”  
“You’re a terrible liar.” She can’t help but tug the dress about, trying to get it to lie just so. She wishes she had chosen something different.  
“How dare you? I happen to be a fantastic liar.” Gwen boasts, “But I’m not lying about this.”  
“Hmmm,” She casts a disbelieving glance before she takes a sip. “This is good.”  
“I'm glad.” Gwen agrees before walking out, letting Mildred finish getting ready.  
  
When she re-enters, she finds the house dimmer, the music softer. Everything a little easier to take in. Gwen stands, nervous, off to the side, waiting for her. “Is this all right? We can eat in the kitchen if you prefer?”  
“This is more than fine.” Mildred answers, “I see Trevor managed to make a proper housewife out of you?”  
“He certainly tried.” Gwen laughs, as they both take their seats. “Though it was Andy who taught me how to cook.”  
“Andy?”  
“His…”  
“His.” Mildred processes. “Was he the tall man? Handsome? At the diner?”  
“Yes,” She begins to serve the stew, offers her some bread. “He thought you were lovely so he’ll be pleased to know you thought he was handsome.”  
“Handsome enough,” She counters slyly. “If you go for that look.”  
“Handsome enough?” Gwen starts laughing, “There’s a line of men **_and_** women behind him everywhere we go… Oh, I can’t wait to tell him **_that_**! Handsome **_enough_** … That’s my Mildred, quick to cut-”  
  
The words die as she realized what she said. They’re on such unsteady ground, she doesn’t want to say or do the wrong thing and scare her off. She watches as Mildred watches her, mouth set in a firm line, thinking, before she begins to eat.  
  
“It’s fine.”  
“I’m sorry.” Gwen replies,“I know we have to talk, but for tonight, can we just…”  
“Enjoy this?” Mildred asks, watching her once more.  
“Yes,” Gwen sighs with relief. “Tonight let’s just enjoy this. What?” She asks, spotting the growing blush on the other woman’s cheeks.  
“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Mildred argues, taking another spoonful of the stew, hoping to distract her. “This is delicious.”  
“Thank you, but that blush isn’t nothing…oh.” She catches the look of want in Mildred’s eyes and feels the air slowly leave her lungs. She breaks their eye contact and begins to push the stew around in her bowl.  
“Don’t think I don’t see that smile, Gwendolyn.” She chides.  
“Gwendolyn?” She repeats, her smile spreading, basking in the knowledge that Mildred still wanted her. That this morning wasn’t just a fluke, or a one-off, an effort to scratch a sixteen-year itch.This morning. Her body gets warm just thinking of it. She puts her spoon down, suddenly disinterested in the meal.  
“You should eat more,” Mildred comments, dipping her bread into the bowl before raising it to her lips, “I can’t have you running out of steam halfway through, now can I?”  
“Halfway through what, dear?” Gwen asks, taking a sip of her wine. Mildred was right, it wasn’t half bad.  
“Mmmmm. Didn’t you want to decorate?” She’s so deadpanned when she looks at Gwen that she can’t tell if she’s serious, or flirting until she spots just the tiniest tip of her tongue poking out between her teeth.  
“Oh, I have missed that smile.” She comments, before picking up her spoon once more.

From there the meal continues with safer topics, but there’s anticipation in the air all around them. It’s as if knowing where the evening is headed allows for them to breathe, assured that they are not the only one aching for the other. Eyes begin to linger over long-missed features, cataloguing what’s changed and what remains. Hands begin to find parts of the other woman to touch - a light press of the fingers to the small of a back as they clear the table, hip against hip as they wash and dry the dishes, palm on wrist when handing over a too-full coffee cup.  
  
“Shall we?” Gwen asks, turning off the kitchen light, guiding them to the living room, blushing as they both seat themselves on the couch.  
“It’s very pretty.” Mildred comments, taking a sip of her coffee and taking in the living room. Funny how everything looks softer, prettier when lit with nothing but string lights.  
“We haven’t even decorated yet.”  
“Still, thank you.” Mildred looks over at her and Gwen opens her arm, a wordless invitation to curl up beside her as they once did every night. Mildred can’t help but pause, as right as it feels, it doesn’t sit right with her to take what Gwen is offering, even if all she’s offering is a warm place to rest. What happens when she leaves and she has to sit on this couch alone?  
“Enjoy tonight?” Gwen reminds her softly, cocking her head to one side. She still can’t read all of Mildred’s moods, but she can tell when her mind starts spinning up, moving too fast, too ahead. Mildred doesn’t smile, doesn’t speak but she does shift closer and nestles herself against her side, leaning her head against her chest. From here she can hear Gwen’s heartbeats and it soothes her as it did before. She wonders if Gwen knew how many times she’d wake from a nightmare and just listened in the dark to the other woman’s heartbeat, lungs breathe until her own body matched the steady pace set by Gwen. If that didn’t work, she’d take Gwen’s wrist in her hand and count her pulse. She would wake from those nightmares where Edmund found them, killed them, in all sorts of horrible, graphic gruesome ways and they felt so real, she couldn’t tell if she was still in the dream, or if she had truly woken up and the only thing that would ground her to reality, bring her back, was Gwen’s body. She knew it was silly, but she had promised that so long as she was alive, she would keep Gwen safe, protect her - so if Gwen was safe beside her, if she was breathing, it meant Mildred was too. She doesn’t know why she remembered that.  
“Are you sure I can’t offer you more wine?” Gwen asks, placing a soft kiss on the top of her head.  
“No thank you. I’d like to keep my wits about me tonight.” She sips her coffee as she feels Gwen shiver beneath her at the thought. “Would you like the blanket?” She asks, deadpanned.  
“No, I’m fine.”  
“All right then.” She shrugs, working herself even further into the other woman’s side. “I like this song,” She murmurs to no one in particular.  
“I didn’t even realize the radio was still on.”  
“No? It’s not like you to be so distracted Gwen.” She turns her head to tease the other woman but finds her mouth go dry the way Gwen’s looking at her. The want around them crackles like an electric storm.  
“Put the cup down Mildred.” She requests, waiting for the other woman to do as she’s asked. “Thank you.” She cups her cheek and kisses her. It only takes a moment before Mildred starts scrambling and lets Gwen pull her up, straddling her lap. “All day long, Mildred,” She rasps out, her hand slowly sliding up the woman’s thigh, pushing the shift dress up over her hips. Oh her hips, her hands find purchase on them and she goes lightheaded. “All day long I just kept imagining…”  
“What?” Mildred asks, her head leaning back as Gwen works her mouth up and down her neck.  
“You. Here. Just like this.” She glides a hand down Mildred’s backside to just behind the knee, tickling her to watch her squirm against her, yelping in her ear as she tries to move her body away but not really. She never wants to leave this moment, she just lets herself enjoy it, all of it. Her hands are playing with Gwen’s hair, not caring that she’s likely working out all the curls, just caring that she’s here, that she can do it. She can touch her. She can be touched by her. She sighs into the kiss and lets go. They kiss like this for goodness knows how long - maybe hours? Maybe days? Time is meaningless to them right now, making out like teenagers, in ways they wouldn’t or didn’t do their first time around. Why didn’t they do this more before? No, this feels wholly new and entirely delicious.  
  
The feel of Gwen’s hand sneaking under her sweater, tracing her spine, makes her quake, makes her regret her dress. If she had worn a blouse, she could’ve unbuttoned it by now, felt her hands on her skin. She whines in frustration, pulling back, stripping her sweater off, suddenly too hot, too much fabric, too much everything. She pants, trying to catch her breath, eyes roaming over Gwen’s, her fair skin red now, and blushed, her neck dotted with bites and marks. “I’m sorry.” She murmurs, her fingers dancing on the markings.  
“No, you’re not.” The Gwen smirks.  
“No, I’m really not.” She sighs.  
“Are you ok?”  
“Yes, just…warm.” She bends her head from one side to the other, stretching her neck. “And sore.”  
“I can be gentler.”  
“Don’t.” And with that, she leans her head back in, fiercely picking up where they left off.   
  
Gentleness never sat well with her in moments like this. Not to say she didn’t love their tender moments, the softness that passes between them at times. But in these moments of need, she needs something more, something surer. She needs to know Gwen is there with her, she needs some sensation to focus on, to ground her, keep her in the present and not let her float off completely. A string to tie her to reality. To safety. To Gwen and no one else.  
  
“May I?” Gwen asks, her hand on the zipper on Mildred’s back, her lips tugging on her earlobe.  
“I wish you would,” A sigh as the cool hair hits her flushed back. Gwen eases the dress off her shoulders, down the front and takes a moment to take her lover in. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Mildred asks, shifting uncomfortably, suddenly very aware that she was now half nude, half blushed.  
“Because you’re beautiful and I’ve missed looking at you.” Gwen answers matter of factly, tucking a strand of Mildred’s hair behind her ear. “I’ve missed you. All those years…”  
“Gwen, I can’t,” She shakes her head, sets her face firm, “I won’t apologize for doing what I had to to keep you safe.”  
“All I wanted was to be with you.”  
“It wasn’t safe.”  
“I didn’t **_care_ **about safe, Mildred. I only wanted to be with you.” Her voice is brittle but does not break and it only makes Mildred want her more.  
“You’re here with me now…” She answers, “Or is it not enough?”  
“It’ll never be enough.” Gwen replies, “We’ll never get those years back.” Neither of them talks about the years moving forward.  
“No, we won’t.” She agrees, rising from Gwen’s lap, slipping her dress back on.  
“Mildred, I’m sorry, I-”  
“Bedroom.” Mildred cuts her off. “Now.” She gathers her sweater off the floor, unplugs the lights, leaving them in darkness.  
“What?” Gwen asks, confused, but rising.  
“You’re here with me now, Gwendolyn. I’m not going to waste another moment,” She patiently explains, “So bedroom, please. Because what I want to do to you can’t be done comfortably on the couch, not at our age.”  
“We did all right this morning, didn’t we?” Gwen replies, taking Mildred’s waist in her hands, pulling her in for a soft kiss.  
“Speak for yourself, my back was sore all day long…”  
“Poor darling,” Gwen teases, her hands moving to kneed the muscles in question, relishing the look on Mildred’s face as she finds a knot. “Is that better?”  
“Bedroom.” Mildred sighs, pulling herself away and making her way down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **a:** From Kate Bush’s ‘Under the Ivy’ which is weirdly hard to find anywhere other than youtube? _“I feel it all around me // And it's not easy for me to give away a secret // It’s not safe”_


	11. it's too late to be free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That’s when she realizes, that’s when she knows, she will never, ever be free of Mildred’s power over her. Mildred could leave her a hundred times, travel to the furthest ends of the world, and still every atom, every cell, everything would always belong to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **a:** Listen, I know the fandom has some very _set_ ideas about the proclivities of these two characters, but I’m here to play devil’s advocate and suggest some alternative perspectives…

* * *

_December 1966 - Salem, OR  
  
_It’s like another world - her bedroom is cool and dark, and the radio has shifted from top forty to something slow and dreamlike the way it floats in from the other room. She watches as Gwen moves the curtains and pulls them back slightly and looks out. Mildred’s shoulders tighten and she freezes. Edmund is dead, she tells herself as she takes a breath.  
  
Charlotte still incarcerated, another breath.  
  
Bromden is in Utah. Breathe.  
  
And still, there could be a hundred other dangers, a hundred other-  
  
“It’s so beautiful,” Gwen says softly, tilting her head to look up at the night sky. “Come see?” She asks, looking over her shoulder at Mildred. And then she smiles and it’s the kind of smile that just makes her ache. There is such openness, such willingness to believe that nothing bad could ever happen. But that’s not true - Gwen knew about all the shades of awful things that could happen, she had even survived a few of them - and here she still is. Smiling. “What’s wrong?” Gwen asks, letting the curtain fall back down.  
“Nothing.” Mildred tries to smile, crossing over to the woman by the window. “What did you want me to see?” She asks, tentatively parting the curtains and looking outside. All she sees is the faded black of the night across the yard.  
“Look up,” Gwen says, her voice hushed and brushing Mildred’s ear. She’s stepped closer to the other woman, a hand on her hip, and together they look up through the window at the ghostly grey clouds rolling in, smothering the stars. Each one is eerie and glowing as if illuminated from within. “Snow,” Mildred explains softly.  
“Snow,” Gwen repeats. “I haven’t seen snow in…forever.”  
“Well, you might see some tomorrow.”  
  
They stand there for a few minutes, long enough for the song to change once, twice. And then Gwen shivers from the draft from the window and the curtains fall once more, separating them from that world once more. “Tired?” Mildred asks, turning to face the other woman.  
“Not at all.”  
“Are you sure? Big day tomorrow…” Mildred explains, her hands find the buttons of Gwen’s blouse and begins to undo them, one at a time, her eyes never moving from her face. “Snow, and hot chocolate and decorating…”  
“You’re right. We should get to bed.”  
“We should.” Mildred agrees, her voice serious as she continues the task at hand. Still, she doesn’t look away. She wants her to watch, she wants her to see and to know just how much she’s missed her, just how much she wants her. She swiftly yanks the bottom of the blouse up from the slacks and then eases them off from her shoulders until they land in a heap on the floor, followed soon after by the pants. “I like those on you…” She admits as she takes in the other woman standing before her in nothing more than her undergarments. She forgot how much she liked to see Gwen like this, the lines of her muscles unburdened by clothes, by fabric. Her arm reaches for the strap of the bra, but Gwen jerks her shoulder away. “Leave it.” She commands. “Please.” Softer this time.  
“Gwen, I -” She wants to say she’s seen the scar, she’s seen worse but is cut off.  
“Mildred.”  
“All right,” Her hand smooths the strap back along the shoulder. “All right.”  
“You can touch me there, I just…”  
“Gwen, it’s all right.” Mildred softens, stepping into the other woman’s space, brushing her lips along her jaw, her hand ghosting along the swell of her breast, smiling into the other woman’s neck as she feels Gwen arch her back under her touch. “Is this -”  
“Yes.” Gwen sighs and it makes Mildred’s desire grow stronger, her teeth dragging down the muscles in the other woman’s neck.  
“Good.” She steps away and pushes her lightly onto the bed, and just looks at her. Gwen looks up at her and she loves it, absolutely relishes how it makes her feel. “Turn over.” She instructs, her voice low and calm. And Gwen does it, without asking any questions, trusting the other woman implicitly, relishing the change in their dynamic. Mildred steps out of her dress, removing what’s left and lets them both join Gwen’s clothes on the floor, and then lowers herself onto the bed.She lays herself on top of Gwen, just lets her weight press her into the bed, lets their skin warm against each other. She parts Gwen’s thighs with her knee and slides her leg between them, biting her lip to keep from whimpering when she feels Gwen’s wetness press against her thigh. She begins to speak to Gwen, her mouth so close to the other woman’s ear that the breath tickles her. She whispers words of devotion and desire, words she could never say in the light of day and she relishes feeling Gwen’s hips roll beneath her, pushing herself against the other woman’s thigh. She feels herself grow bolder, grow braver, hearing the breath that catches in her throat, hearing Gwen’s words become increasingly nonsensical until all she can make out is her own name, the word, please.  
  
“Mildred, please. Please, Mildred, please.” Gwen can’t help but let herself go, feel every sensation crawling on and under her skin. It’s not as if she had forgotten how easily, how badly her body would always betray her for Mildred’s touch, it’s more that she had forgotten how intense it all was. How overwhelming Mildred’s singular attention could be. No wonder no other woman had ever measured, ever compared to her, could never compare to her. She shivers in the cool air as she feels Mildred rise, leaving her knee pressed against her core. “Mildred…”  
“I’m right here.” She murmurs, peppering her lover’s back with kisses, with dragging nails, with bites against soft flesh, knowing it would cause her to press and buck harder against her thigh. She loves seeing Gwen helpless like this. She has missed it. She had missed it in ways she had forgotten she had forgotten. Gwen was one of the strongest, most confidant women she had ever met. She remembers thinking that upon their first meeting at the hospital, being envious of her self-assuredness, her carriage, her class. Seeing her undone like she was now, falling apart on the bed beneath her, because of her, for her - oh, the things it did to her. The idea that anyone, **_anyone_** had touched her, seen her like this, suddenly fills her with rage and spurns her on to reclaim her, to leave her touch on every square inch of her soul, her body. She wants to mark her so thoroughly so that there will never be a question as to whose she is, who her heart and body belong to. She is Mildred’s and she will always be. She knows she should be horrified at herself for this, seeing her as nothing more than something to be owned and had but she cannot bring herself to care at this moment in time. Right now she -  
  
“Mildred?” She blinks to see Gwen’s face swimming in front of her, the woman sitting up, gently holding her face in her hands, “Mildred, are you all right?”  
“What?” She takes a breath, gets her bearings, “I’m sorry, I just…” She doesn’t know what she just…  
“It’s all right,” she reassures her, releases her face “It’s all right. Come, lay down with me?” Gwen asks, “You’re shivering.”  
“No, I’m fine.”  
“Mildred,” Gwen sighs, leaning over the edge of the bed, snatching the sweater off the ground, “You’re shivering.” She repeats, wrapping it around Mildred’s shaking shoulders. “Please, just for a minute.” She leans back against the headboard and lifts her arm, making space for Mildred to nestle in beside her. After a moment, Mildred gives in and curls up beside her. “That’s better. What happened? Where did you go?”  
“Mmm. I don’t know.” She lies.  
“All right. Though you know you could tell me if you’d like to?”  
“Mmmm.” Mildred deflects.  
“Was it too much?” Gwen asks, her fingers tracing lazy circles on Mildred’s shoulder.  
“No actually,” She laughs a hollow, empty laugh.  
“No?”  
“Not enough actually.”  
“I see.” Gwen places a kiss on her forehead.  
“Was it like this with the others?”  
“Mildred?”  
“Was it?” She asks again, pulling herself out of the other woman’s embrace. “There were, there are others, weren’t there?”  
“There were,” Gwen answers, her voice steady.  
“A lot?”  
“Mildred, I…” She sighs, “Not enough, actually.” She laughs her own hollow laugh. “Not enough to forget you. And no, it’s never been like this,” Her fingers twine around Mildred’s, “This is only with you.” She lets the words sink in for the both of them. Mildred’s the only one who will ever get this reaction out of her and the sooner she accepts it… Well, she doesn’t know what. She’s so lost in thought she doesn’t see Mildred’s move to kiss her until she does, until she feels her lips, her teeth, her tongue, her hands all claiming ownership over her as strongly as any words ever could. And that’s when she realizes, that’s when she knows, she will never, ever be free of Mildred’s power over her. Mildred could leave her a hundred times, travel to the furthest ends of the world, and still every atom, every cell, everything would always belong to her.  
  
“Do you remember…” Mildred begins, pushing Gwen flat on her back, “The night after the car…? When I wore that…”  
“Yes.” Gwen answers, breathless at the memory, but also the reality before her.  
“What did you tell me?”  
“I…” She tries to remember, distracted by Mildred’s one hand pinning her hand down, her other easing her underwear down and off.  
“Mmmm?”  
“I…said you were mine.”  
“And?” Mildred prompts her, using her own body to spread her legs.  
“No one could ever touch you like I-” She shudders as Mildred’s free hand slides between her legs, two fingers sliding up and down, tracing the damp curves they found.  
“I was yours from that night on, Gwen. From before that night. Now…it’s my turn.”  
“Your -” She’s cut off from speaking, from breathing with a hard kiss, their intertwined fingers grasping onto each other.  
“My turn. You’re mine, and you will always, **_always_** be mine.” Mildred whispers roughly, leaning her head over Gwen’s so she’s the only thing she can see, but that’s the way it’s always been, both of them having eyes for only the other. “Do you understand Gwen?”  
“Yes.” She chokes out, whimpering with need. For Mildred to claim her, to release her.  
“Good.” Mildred beams at her before gingerly dipping her fingers into her, watching the woman beneath her rise up to meet her… “Almost…” She chides as she leaves a trail of kisses along Gwen’s neck, down the valley between her breasts and up the swell of her belly until she reaches her destination.  
  
Gwen doesn’t recall much after that, just lets herself be undone, be wholly consumed and claimed by Mildred in a way she’s never known.  
  
She finds her wits eventually and settles back into her body with the stars finally clearing from her eyes. “Hello,” Mildred greets her, propped up on one hand, watching her.  
“Hello…” Gwen yawns. “I’m -.”  
“Yes?”  
“Mildred, that was… You were…”  
“Mmmm.” She grins, letting her head be pulled down by Gwen’s into a shy kiss.  
“How long was I out?”  
“Not long, a few minutes maybe?”  
“Darling, I’m sorry… Why didn’t you wake me?” She groans, humiliated.  
“Why would I? You were supposed to sleep today, and instead, you played housewife for me. Letting you sleep was the least I could do for you…” She lowers herself down, nestling herself in the crook of Gwen’s arm.  
“Still…”  
“Still what?”  
“Still…” She repeats, rolling half onto the other woman, slinging a leg across her lap, gazing down on her. “What about my plans for you?”  
“There’s always tomorrow,” Mildred answers, her hand floating up to trace Gwen’s features, still shining bright despite the dark.  
“Is there?”  
“Mmmm.” Mildred nods, suddenly exhausted. “I’m off tomorrow.”  
“I see. And did you have any plans?” She asks her hand following the curves of Mildred’s body, up and down and up again.  
“Not a one.”  
“I’m sure we can find something to pass the time.” She answers, placing a kiss on her lover’s lips. It was meant to be chaste, slow, but perhaps it’s the music or the softness that now exists between them as if it never left, but the kiss grows deeper, longer. Before either of them knows it, they’re clasped to each other and yet, still distraught at the distance between them, no matter how tightly their sweat sticky skin is pressed together, how closely in sync they are. They’re joined once more by fingers buried deep, by heavy breathing and sharp gasps as they find just the right spots - touch having a memory - until they lie spent and sore yet again. With their limbs dovetailed together, Gwen reaches behind her and pulls the edge of the bedspread haphazardly over them as they collapse against each other and fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **b:** From Aretha’s ‘One Step Ahead’ - _“Your warm breath on my shoulder // Keeps reminding me // That it's too soon to forget you // It’s too late to be free, can't you see?”_  
>  **c:** The mention of the car was a reference to ['In The Night'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26796091), but not necessary to read it. They all just kind of feed into the same characters for me.


	12. interlude - such violent things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mildred knows that there is no understanding, no forgiveness for a woman who is found to be exploiting a man’s desire, but what about a woman’s?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **a:** tw for some abstract mentions of the boiling baths and some internalised homophobia.

* * *

_1947 - Santa Lucia  
  
_She watches as Dr. Hanover drives away and lets out a breath, tonight has been long and she is so incredibly tired. Every last muscle aches, but she doesn’t let her shoulders sag, her head lower. She cannot wait to get in, call Lenore Osgood and… Her thoughts drift off, incomplete. She’s not sure if it’s the spark of the lighter that catches her attention or the weight of Gwen’s gaze, but either way, she sees the other woman sitting in her dark car and there is a flutter deep in her belly, half fear half…something wholly **_new_**. It grows as she turns, adjusts the scarf around her head, moves towards the figure in the car. She doesn’t know it yet, but this is the moment she falls in love with Gwendolyn Briggs - in the time it takes her to cross the gravel, peer into the window, open the door, and sit down. It takes exactly nineteen seconds, not that she would ever know this, but we do.  
  
She is surprised by the jaded tone in Gwen’s voice when she speaks to her - so unlike the gentle voice she’s always used with her, or the earnestness that is her hallmark. She’s often wondered how this woman could be so delighted by everything, so curious, so…sincere. The idea of it is beyond confusing to Mildred, not to mention more than a little distasteful. She doesn’t know why she bothers calling her on it, why the sarcasm offends her more now than her normal brand of honest delight, but it does. It doesn’t suit her, and she lets her know as much, though why she should care about what suits Gwen also confuses her.  
  
Most things about most people confuse Mildred, but Gwen confuses her on an entirely new and different level. Like why she cares about her watery eyes. Or why she can’t take her eyes off her, how she looks lit by the red neon, blue cigarette smoke. Why she chooses to flirt with her, not like she was a man, but like the woman that she was. There are other ways to have gotten Gwen to keep quiet about Mr. Wainwright, but they didn’t give her the same clench of the belly that this did. Talking to Gwen, sitting beside her, looking at her, being looked **_at_** by her felt like stepping into a too warm bath - painful and dangerous. Still, it was a feeling other than the disgust, or apathy, or anger she usually carried around with her. And one gets used to a too warm bath, eventually, don’t they? She doesn’t think of the hospital, of the baths there. She hopes they made their escape, that they manage to claw out some sort of life for themselves somewhere, anywhere.  
  
They stay in the car for a little longer, talking of goodness knows what. Gwen looks at her in a way that she hates, in no small part because it thrills her, because she can’t help but look at her in the same way. She knows she hurt her earlier, that was the point after all. She pushed her away on purpose to put distance between them, any yet Gwen still tries to bridge it. Here Gwen is, smiling at her, happy enough to be beside her in the near dark, knowing Mildred can and will hurt her over and over again, and thankful for the opportunity. She is unlike every man that has wanted her, and this too confuses her. Mildred knows that there is no understanding, no forgiveness for a woman who is found to be exploiting a man’s desire, but what about a woman’s?  
  
Mildred wordlessly plucks Gwen’s cigarette from her hand, takes a drag and returns it. The nicotine causes her blood to buzz beneath her skin, at least that’s what she tells herself, it’s the nicotine, and not having Gwen’s cigarette between her lips. It’s not the scent of her perfume mixed with tobacco. It’s not Gwen.  
  
The conversation meanders here and there, neither pushing the conversation too far, the silence both comfortable, and yet electric. Both content to sit there with the other, passing a cigarette back and forth, neither brave enough to let their finger be the one that touches the others.  
  
There are no words for what she wants or at least none that she knows, but there are thoughts, flashes, ideas. Mouths on lips, on shoulders, on necks and breasts and hips and even lower. There is no role-playing, no setups - just Mildred Eleanor Ratched and Gwendolyn Briggs. She has heard about the sexual acts of the sapphics in hushed, low whispers, but never once thought about them, either specifically or generally. Now she finds herself thinking about what it would feel like, look like. What, she wonders, would she taste like? Her mind can’t help but go to the ocean, the briny sweetness of oysters. She supposes Gwendolyn would know. She supposes Gwendolyn knows all about it. Why then, does the thought not repulse her as it should, but fascinate her, and more than that, fill her with a sense of fury.  
  
Their cigarette dies and the radio station signs off for the night, and Gwen regretfully says they should go in. Mildred doesn’t argue, only smiles tightly, gets out of the car. She doesn’t allow herself to think about inviting Gwen to use her room as a shortcut, as they slowly walk along the gravel. She doesn’t think about being pressed up against the door by her once more. She doesn’t think about what it means that she wants it again. No, she simply takes a deep breath of the ocean air and shivers. Gwen asks if she’s cold, and she lies to the both of them and says she hasn’t quite gotten used to the chill of Santa Lucia.  
  
Only Gwen believes that lie, wishing her a good night before walking away, disappearing into the dark night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **b:** The title comes from the line, _“I’ve fallen in love. I'm an ordinary woman. I didn't think such violent things could happen to ordinary people.”_ from the movie Brief Encounter, about two ordinary people who meet and fall in love.


	13. the party’s over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s not ok, Gwen.” Her voice rises, and she can’t help it. The calm surface she has spent a lifetime creating, maintaining, slowly crumbles around her as first her shaking voice, and then her shaking body, betray her. “It’s not ok, Gwen! It’s reckless. It’s reckless and it’s careless.” She can’t see anything, she can only feel everything break. Everything around her breaks and she hates it. “It’s careless, Gwen! Anyone could come in. Anyone could do anything because the radio is too loud. Because the curtains are open!” It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. None of this was supposed to happen. “You don’t understand!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **a:** This may be the chapter people hate me for. I’m sorry - this wasn’t where it was supposed to go, but it’s where it ended up going every time I tried to rewrite it.  
>  **b:** tw for some mentions of amputations & Mildred’s time overseas.

* * *

_December 1966 - Salem, OR_

  
She wakes without waking.  
  
She finds herself curled in an unfamiliar position, her neck aching, everything aching, but too tired to do more than shift about. She hears Gwen softly tell her something and then she falls back asleep. It’s the nicest dream she’s had in a while - it feels like being back in Santa Lucia, back in Gwen’s old car. It almost seems real, as if Gwen’s actually stroking her hair. In the distance, the radio plays an ad for L&M cigarettes. She drifts back asleep.  
  
When she wakes, **_really_** wakes it’s sudden.  
  
Her eyes snap open and stare at the cream walls. Her mind is a blank, racing to place what’s happening, what’s wrong. She knows she’s overslept, everything is too bright in the room and too late in the day. It was that dream, that dream of being back in San- “Mildred, you’re fine.” She feels Gwen’s palm press upon her breastbone, skin to skin, and her heart begins to settle. “You’re fine, darling. You’re fine.” She repeats, grounding Mildred, reassuring her, her thumb stroking the soft skin of her chest. Hearing the other woman say her name pulls her back to reality, into the moment, Gwen could always do that, guide her back to the present. “Gwen.” Mildred finally sighs, pressing her own hand against the other woman’s. She lets herself calm down before she sits up from where she laid on Gwen’s lap and shyly looks at the other woman. She sits there against the headboard, dressed in nothing but her battered old sweater and that bra of hers, fair skin covered in red marks and her hair… She fights to keep from laughing as she takes in the other woman’s hair, sticking up every which way. “Oh Gwen,”  
“Are you laughing at my hair?” She asks, amused, sliding a slip of paper into the book she was reading.  
“I’m sorry…” She finds she can’t help the giggle that slips out.  
“You should be, it looked perfectly fine before you got your hands on it last night…” She’s not offended, not really. She can only imagine how frightful it looks and she remembers how delicious it felt to have Mildred’s fingers pushing and pulling at her head.  
“Here,” Mildred reaches out a hand and tries to tame it, but fails miserably.  
“It’s all right,” Gwen takes her hand and kisses the palm lightly, “I can fix it later. Besides, I imagine I look rather worse for wear right now, my hair won’t make a difference.”  
“You look beautiful. A sight for sore eyes.”  
“Mmmm.” She raises a suspicious brow, quirks her lip into a smirk.She raises an arm and Mildred burrows beside her, pulling the blankets up to cover them. She feels childish, but allows herself to indulge. The handful of memories she had allowed herself to keep of their past had fed her, nurtured her, and kept her alive for years, goodness knows how long last night’s memories would have to last.  
  
Yesterday was yesterday and today was today, after all.  
  
Mildred keeps sneaking glances over to Gwen, who has begun to read once more. She wants to tell her she looks like a dream, like a woman who has been well loved but instead says nothing, is content to just lie here and listen to her turn the pages. The sound helps distract from the thoughts running around in her head - _what now, what now, what now_?  
  
After another minute or two, Gwen closes the book and sets it back down. “Thank you. I was just a few pages from the end.”  
“Were you reading all morning?” Mildred asks, taking only a cursory interest in the book, something by some woman poet who killed herself.One of them at least, she couldn’t keep them straight - she had had too much sorrow in her life to willingly take on that of others.  
“Yes,” Gwen fights a yawn, “Jet lag. I can’t tell if I’m coming or going.”  
“Lucky for you we can spend all day in bed if you’d like.”  
“That’s very kind,” She places a light kiss on her forehead, “But we both know that would drive you mad.”  
“I’d do it for you.” She tries to counter, but she knows Gwen is right, she would get restless and anxious, no matter how delightful it sounds. The thoughts would just run around until she says something, or does something to ruin all of this.  
“I know… And that’s enough for me. Besides, I seem to remember you promising me snow, and hot chocolate and trimming a tree?”  
“The tree!” Mildred beams bright, unexpectedly ecstatic and childlike as if this was Christmas morning itself. “Gwen, I’d forgotten about the tree!” She throws off the blankets and rises, digging about for her robe amongst the cast off clothes strewn about the room. “I’m going to make coffee, and then we can start?”  
“I was promised hot chocolate…” Gwen counters as she gets up and begins to make the bed. “Why don’t you give me 15 minutes to shower? Put myself together in some semblance of order, and then I can get started on breakfast?”  
“And what will I do?”  
“I assume you’d want to lay out the decorations? Come up with a plan of attack, obviously.”  
“You’re teasing me!” Mildred says, her voice straddling the line between accusing and asking.  
“Hardly, my darling girl.” She wraps her arms around Mildred’s waist and just holds her lightly, “I just appreciate your methodical nature. I **_marvel_** at it, in fact.”  
“Really?”  
“Really,” She shivers in the chilly morning air. “Mildred, I…” She pauses, careful to pick out just the right words. “Seeing you happy, seeing you excited - I would never, **_ever_** tease you about it. No matter what has happened, or what will happen, I would never do that to you. Do you trust that?” Gwen lets Mildred process the words, lets her decide if they were going to talk further or leave it be.  
“I…trust you,” Mildred answers, each word a challenge to get out of her mouth.  
“Good,” Gwen smiles at her and then drops her arms from her waist. “Because I have to run to the shower and try to get warm! Go look at the ornaments - I’ll be out in a few minutes.”  
  
Gwen all but dashes to the washroom and Mildred can hear the shower turn on and it makes her heart ache. She looks about the bedroom and begins to pick up the clothes from the floor. She’ll have to press her dress, now wrinkled to the point of being unwearable. She changes quickly into a skirt and blouse, runs a comb through her tangled hair and then after deliberation, sprays herself with perfume. She’ll wash her face and brush her teeth when Gwen is done, but at least she now feels like she looks, if not pretty, then presentable. She casts a final glance at the room, now back in order - and that’s when she notices the curtains. The curtains are pulled back, that’s why the room was brighter, is brighter - the sun is shining on the layer of snow that’s found it’s way on the ground. Her pulse quickens as she realizes Gwen must’ve have opened them in the morning, and God knows who saw what. She snatches them closed and stares at them for a moment. She knows Gwen doesn’t know, doesn’t understand, but still, she can’t just… her mind jumps from possibility to possibility.  
  
She’s still thinking about them when Gwen comes back in, wrapped in a towel, hair slicked back again. “Oh, did you see the snow?” Gwen asks as she begins to change into her clothes. “I wish I brought warmer clothes so I could go roll around in it.” She speaks, her words easy, unbothered. “Mildred, is everything all right?” She asks when she realizes the other woman hasn’t moved from the window.  
“I don’t…” She takes a deep breath before she turns around to face Gwen, her voice and her hands shaking “I don’t like the curtains open.”  
“I’m sorry. I’ll remember that.” Gwen apologizes, buttoning up a clean blouse, smiling at her. “Do you mind if I wear this sweater?” She asks, picking up the old sweater from the back of the chair.  
“That’s fine,” Mildred responds woodenly. Unsure if she should press the matter. She knows, she **_knows_** it doesn’t matter, and yet it does. Anyone could’ve just looked in. Anyone could’ve -  
“Thanks!” Gwen places a swift kiss on her cheek and then slips the sweater over her head as she heads out of the room to start breakfast.

She keeps an ear out for Mildred as she fills the kettle, changes the radio station, gathers the ingredients for pancakes. The window upset Mildred, she could see it, but she could also see that she was unwilling or unable to talk about it, and so she has decided to move forward with their day. Mildred would either process it, or they would discuss it, the ball was in her court. The ball was (almost) always in her court. Gwen sighs, and then proceeds to mix the batter.  
  
Soon after, Mildred finds herself in the kitchen and stands by the sink, watching Gwen move. It bothers her how comfortable Gwen is in this house. It seems to her that no matter where she went, she was always comfortable, always at home. It wasn’t fair. “Do you need any help?” She finally asks.  
“No, I think I’m good.” Gwen smiles over her shoulder before turning her attention back to the pan.  
“I can help, you know. I’m not helpless.” Mildred states, “This is my home, after all.”  
“It is, Mildred. And I never said or thought otherwise.” Gwen answers, sliding the first two pancakes off the pan. She turns off the stovetop and turns around, her face set in an unreadable expression. “Well…”  
“Well…” Mildred repeats, her eyes focused on the tiles on the floor. She doesn’t know why she’s doing this. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. Only that she should stop and that she can’t.  
  
Neither of them says anything.  
  
“If it’s all right with you, I’d like to make a cup of coffee before we do this?” Gwen mutters, turning around once the kettle begins to scream.  
“I thought you wanted hot chocolate?” Mildred asks.  
“You didn’t have any.”  
“Because I’m an **_adult_** , Gwen.”  
“One of the many benefits of being an adult, **_Mildred_** ,” She moves to the fridge, where she takes out the carton of cream and begins to add it to other woman’s coffee, “Is that you can have hot chocolate any time you feel like it.” She adds a spoon of sugar to it and stirs it until it dissolves. She turns to hand the other woman who just watches her with a cold glare. “What?”  
“I could’ve made my own coffee.”  
“Christ, Mildred. It’s coffee - just coffee. What has gotten into you this morning?”  
“Nothing. Nothing has gotten into me this morning.”  
“All right then.” Gwen nods before she places Mildred’s mug in the kitchen sink. “Do you want to talk about what hasn’t gotten into you this morning, or do you just want me to leave?” Mildred’s eyes dart upwards, wide and panicked. This isn’t what she wants. Any of this. She wants to drink the coffee Gwen made for her, and she wants to talk to her but about what? What would she say? “That’s not a threat, Mildred,” she explains patiently, kindly “It’s not a punishment. I showed up on your doorstep unannounced. I am in your space and I am disrupting your life and I understand that and I’m sorry. I can leave. I can go back to San Francisco and…”  
“And what?” Mildred asks softly, taking Gwen’s hand in hers, arm stretched across the small space between them.  
“And I don’t know.” She shrugs, a sad half-smile at their linked hands.  
“Can you just hold me?” She asks in a soft voice. “Just for a moment?”  
“Mildred…”  
“Please.” Her voice so soft, Gwen isn’t sure she didn’t imagine it. Gwen sighs and opens her arm and Mildred launches herself into them. Nothing ever scared her, nothing could, when Gwen held her. She presses her ear against her chest and counts along with the heartbeats until they're both steady. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s happening.” She apologizes, tightening her grip on the older woman’s waist. “Just don’t leave. I’m sorry.”  
“Mildred, it’s not about being sorry. I just don’t think I can keep doing this…” Gwen murmurs, placing a light kiss on her hair. “This back and forth. One minute I feel like we’re back in time and then the winds change, and you’re gone from me.”  
“I think the truth is somewhere in the middle,” Mildred responds, her voice muffled by the woollen sweater, by Gwen’s shoulder. “So much has changed, and so much hasn’t. You just showed up and you announced you still loved me.”  
“I do.”  
“How can you?”  
“How can I?” Gwen pulls back to look her in the eye, “Mildred, I promised I’d love you forever.”  
“That’s ridiculous.”  
“That’s love.” She sighs, echoing her words from so many years. “My heart is yours. It’s always been yours, even before I knew you.” Gwen confesses into the other woman’s hair. “If I could love anyone else, if I could do anything else, I would. But I can’t.”  
“But you’ve tried?” Mildred asks, dropping her arms from the woman’s waist, pulling back. God, the radio. She can’t hear over the radio.  
“Yes, I’m not going to lie about it. Or feel ashamed abo - where are you going?” She turns on her heel to follow Mildred out of the room where she’s marched over the radio snapping it off. “What is happening right now, Mildred? I’m a little lost, and honestly, a little concerned.”  
“It was just so **_loud_** Gwen. I couldn’t hear myself think.”  
“Ok.”  
“It’s not ok, Gwen.” Her voice rises, and she can’t help it. The calm surface she has spent a lifetime creating, maintaining, slowly crumbles around her as first her shaking voice, and then her shaking body, betray her. “It’s not ok, Gwen! It’s **_reckless_**. It’s **_reckless_** and it’s **_careless_**.” She can’t see anything, she can only feel everything break. Everything around her breaks and she hates it. “It’s **_careless_** , Gwen! Anyone could come in. **_Anyone_** could do **_anything_** because the radio is too **_loud_**. Because the curtains are **_open_**!” It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. None of this was supposed to happen. “You don’t **_understand_** … Do you?!”  
“No, Mildred, I don’t.” Gwen’s head spins as tries to keep up with Mildred’s erratic thoughts. “Can you explain it to me? Can you stop lashing out and speak to me like the woman that you…” Her voice dies off. She realizes she’s the only one who’s said, love. Who’s admitted to it.  
“Like the woman that I…? That I what, Gwen?”  
“I don’t know.” Gwen lets out a hollow laugh and steps back, leans against the dining room table, her mind on the verge of some big realization but never quite making it.  
  
Gwen looks at Mildred and sees the harsh coldness that she once defended and excused has spread - it had once been a tissue-thin veneer that had protected the too raw nerves of her beloved, but now it had seemed to calcify and hardened until it leeched away everything underneath until there was almost nothing left. Almost. What had started to bloom under her careful love and attention all those years ago seemed to have died. Maybe Mildred was right, maybe she had hoped she’d been fixed - God, what an awful, cruel, and true thought. It could just be so exhausting, walking on eggshells, not knowing what would set her off. She remembers those early days, when it seemed every third thing would change the air between them, would set her off. Back then, she would do whatever she could to hold her to whatever moment, whatever place they were, tether her to herself, a lifeline for Mildred to follow back. She’d forgotten how exhausting it could be. Did she have it in her to do it again? Did she even want to?  
  
Mildred, for her part, looks at Gwen and sees her crossed arms, her left hand grasping and releasing its hold on her forearm unconsciously. She sees Gwen look tired, and look old, no longer able to look at her. She wishes she could fix it, but knows that they are fundamentally different people. They are, aren’t they? Gwen is too trusting, too willing, and too, too dangerous because being with her made Mildred more like her. Gwen was dangerous, is dangerous, because Gwen can slip around her defences and find the tenderest, truest part of her and she can drag that part out to the fresh air and sunlight and it **_hurts_** , lord how it **_hurts_**. It hurts like alcohol poured on an open wound to clean it. When she had left her, Mildred finally understood what the boys in her care must’ve felt during the war - those with their limbs cut off to save their bodies - the way they would swear they could feel their missing parts itch or move, still there. That’s what the first few years had been like for her - knowing Gwen was gone, but still feeling her, still hearing her. Still seeing her. And now here she was, just a few inches away, and now she can’t bring herself to do anything other than let the heaviness between them grow. Still, Mildred thinks to herself, keeping her eyes trained on Gwen’s left hand, she shouldn’t be surprised. Even if it wasn’t Edmund, it was going to be something that would’ve set them apart, they were such fundamentally incompatible people. Where Gwen could look at the world and see possibility, all Mildred could see is peril -  
  
“I… I should go, shouldn’t I?” Gwen says, breaking the silence between them.  
“If you’d like.”  
“I’ll just get my things.”  
“All right,” Mildred agrees and watches as Gwen nods to herself and then pushes off from the dining room table she had been leaning on and leaves to gather her belongings.  
  
Mildred can still feel her, in the room though, a phantom limb, nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **c:** The title is from ‘The Party’s Over’ from the musical ‘Bells Are Ringing’.  
>  _“The party's over //The candles flicker and dim // Dance and dream through the night // It seemed to be right just being with him // Now you must wake up; all dreams must end"_
> 
> If you’re going to listen (and I highly recommend it) I’d opt for the Judy Garland/Mel Tormé version because... I mean, it's them.


	14. did I ever leave you (was I ever able)?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s wrong to let people love you when you won’t or can’t love them back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **a:** There's some mentions of vomit/heaving (nothing too graphic), so this somehow became an inadvertent sickfic.

* * *

_December 1966 - Salem, OR_

Mildred stays rooted in the moment, staring where Gwen had just been. Last night she stood there, nestled between her legs and her arms and it had felt like heaven and now… She moves to the kitchen and begins to clean up the remnants of the breakfast that had been cut short, dumps the deflated batter, the cold pancakes. She pretends not to hear the zip of Gwen’s suitcase, simply begins to wash the dishes as Gwen makes her way back into the kitchen doorway.  
  
She pretends she doesn’t feel her eyes on her, she pretends her world isn’t slowly crumbling around her. She pretends she wants to stop it, but God help her, she’s empty and spent and has nothing left in her to give, not just to Gwen (who she wishes she can give everything, anything to), but to herself, to the world. She has nothing left. Twenty years ago, even ten, she would’ve manipulated everything at her disposal to make things work out for her, but she no longer has the energy or the taste for it. She realizes now that it was squandered on the wrong things, the wrong people. She will let Gwen look at her, she will let Gwen leave her, and she will carry on with her day, carry on with her life.  
“I know you’re ignoring me,” Gwen finally says.  
“No, I’m not.” Mildred lies, rinsing the last cup before turning off the faucet, wiping her hands on her apron, turning around. Gwen stands there, changed and taller and stronger. This is good for them, this is right for them, Mildred tells herself. “All set?”  
“Almost.”  
“Almost?” Mildred asks, reaching behind her to undo the knot in the back of the apron.  
“ ** _You_** came after **_me_** , Mildred. You found me in **_London_** , you - what was I supposed to think?” Gwen sighs, “So I came, and now it turns out, what?” She asks, unsure of what she was trying to say. “I’m sorry if I misread your intentions or motivations. I should’ve asked instead of assumed, and that’s on me.” She smiles sadly, “But if I leave Mildred if I leave like this, that’s it. I don’t have in me…” She crosses the kitchen to where Mildred stands, fumbling with her apron strings, “Turn around,” She begins to undo the mess of the knot that Mildred had made. “There.” She steps back once her work is done. “I don’t have it in me to do this again Mildred, so I’m going to ask you once and then after that…” She shrugs sadly. Her eyes, oh, Mildred misses her eyes already. “I have wanted to know for so long. By the end…” She takes a deep breath, “Did you care for me? About me?”  
“Gwen!” She gasps, the blood rushing in her ears.  
“Because there were some nights I thought you did, and then there were others where I felt I was a distraction or a diversion? I don’t know.” She brings a hand to her temple and presses on it, as if this is already giving her a headache, “And I think I need to know this. I need to know how foolish I was in holding onto you. On coming back to you.”  
  
“Gwen, I…” She can’t even bring herself to answer the question. She was supposed to have spent her life with Gwen in Mexico, or travel the world with her. She wasn’t supposed to have lived this entire, awful life she can never explain to her. She wasn’t supposed to look at her and feel so distant, so removed. “That’s a stupid question - no, I’m sorry, it is!” Her voice rises, cutting off the other woman's response before she even opens her mouth. “It’s stupid and it’s mean and it’s cruel. Of **_course_** I loved you.In the end, and at the beginning. I loved you like I had never loved anyone, before or since. For you to stand there and pity yourself, yes Gwen, pity yourself over it is just outrageous.” Each word is sharp and cuts like a dagger, and they’re all being thrown at the other woman. “Do you think I would’ve left you that night if I didn’t? I cut out my **_heart_** out that night, and I left it with you and I did that because I **_loved_** you, Gwen. I **_loved_** you and I wasn’t about to let **_anything_** , and I mean **_anything_** happen to you.” She’s shaking now, but isn’t ready, isn’t able to stop. “Do you think I would’ve found you in San Francisco if I didn’t? Do you think I would’ve spent even a day in that **_awful_** city -”  
“It’s not that ba -”  
“It absolutely is, Gwen, and I don’t understand how you could live there, but you do, and so I went, and I spent an entire week waiting for you to decide if you’d even see me… Why would I do that if I hadn’t loved you?”  
“And now, Mildred? Now that I’m here? Here in front of you, asking you to love me? Not some memory, but **_me_** , the **_body_**. **_Me_** , the **_person_**.”  
“What does it matter now, Gwen? You’re leaving.”  
“Mildred,” Gwen’s mouth presses itself into a firm and hard line as she glares at the other woman, backing away from her before she does something or says something they’ll both regret. “No, I’m not doing this.” She mutters, turning around, head shaking. “I’m not doing this.”  
“Doing what? Running away?”  
“YOU LEFT ME, MILDRED.” She turns on her heel and **_roars_** , face red and eyes wide and wet with tears, “ ** _YOU_**. **_LEFT_**. **_ME_**.”  
“ ** _And you could’ve found me,_** ” Mildred shoots back, voice as quiet as Gwen’s was loud. “You could’ve at least **_looked_**. You didn’t even **_try_**.”  
  
And there it is. The truth that they had both buried so deep they had forgotten it had existed has worked its way out into the bright daylight and lays out in the open for them to see.  
  
“You left me, naked and alone and sick in another country without so much as a word, or a letter. I had to hear it from the **_bank_** that you were gone, Mildred.” Her voice breaks and she’s so, so tired. “The **_bank_** , do you understand how humiliating that is? How heartbreaking? So no, you do not get to be angry with me over that. You can be **_hurt_** , and you can be **_sad_** , but how **_dare_** you be angry that I respected your wishes. If you wanted to stay, if you wanted to have been with me, you would’ve. Nothing and no one makes Mildred Ratched do anything she doesn’t want to. But you didn’t. You made your choice and I will never know why you made it, and I will never understand or agree with it. But I am **_here_** Mildred, still every bit as foolishly as in love with you as I have ever been.” God, she could cry she’s so tired and finds herself leaning against the wall for support - too tired to stand, too stubborn to sit. “So now I am asking you one last time - is there **_any_** chance? Because if not, release me. Please, God, just release me from this because it’s cruel to keep doing this to me, to both of us.” Having said her piece, she takes a breath now, strangely empty, everything she had ever wanted to say spread out in the space between them.  
  
“Oh Gwen,” Mildred wants to go to her, but holds herself back, uncertain what to do. Every muscle in her body aching to touch her, to hold her, to run her hands through her freshly set hair and over her arms and just ease her pain as she did before.  
“Where is **_my_** Mildred?” Gwen asks softly, her eyes gentle and open and still so senselessly, stupidly forgiving. “Where’s my Mildred from last night who…” She can’t say the words, only blush at the thought of what Mildred did, how she claimed her, “Why can you only be honest with me like that? In the dark?”  
“I… Don’t know.” She looks around, realizing she’s standing in the middle of the kitchen and is suddenly embarrassed.  
“It isn’t fair, and I know you know more than most that life’s not fair, but it’s just… ** _wrong_** , Mildred. It’s wrong to let people love you when you won’t or can’t love them back.”  
  
Gwen’s words knock the wind out of her, like a punch to the stomach. She stands there, mouth open, mind reeling. What if Gwen was right? What if she couldn’t love? What if everything she thought she had felt was love was just some sort of perversion of it? What if she had just been play-acting all along? Imitating what she had thought love was? How would she know? Gwen was the first person, the only person who had loved her and she had tried, God how she had tried to love her back and what if it wasn’t enough?  
  
She can’t breathe.  
  
She can’t breathe and she’s going to be sick.  
  
Her lungs begin to seize and she can’t breathe. She can’t breathe she can’t breatheshecan’tbreathe. She can’t breathe and she can’t see and everything swims out of view but she can hear. She can hear Gwen, she can’t make out what’s being said, but she can hear her voice and she can feel her hands gripping hers. That’s what she focuses on. The feel of Gwen’s hands in hers, they’re soft, and her nails trimmed with just enough left to dig into her flesh and leave little marks. She had once loved finding those marks on her body. Nail marks, teeth marks, broken blood vessels - scattered across her body like trail markers left by Gwen who had would get lost exploring Mildred’s body for hours. Gwen’s hands are the only thing she can focus on. Gwen’s hands that are gripping hers so tightly that the pain is all that holds the last pieces of her self together. **_Gwen_** is all that holds her together and she shouldn’t be. She shouldn’t be here. She should be anywhere else, with anyone else. She shouldn’t be here…dealing with all this. She pushes up from the chair (when had she sat down, she wonders) and runs to the bathroom where she retches up nothing. A loud sound echos in the toilet bowl and she can’t tell if it’s a laugh or a cry - of course, nothing comes up, they didn’t eat. They were supposed to eat pancakes and drink hot chocolate and listen to carols and trim the stupid tree and instead she’s curled up on the floor of her bathroom, dry heaving nothing into the toilet and unable to stop.  
  
From the floor, she can spot Gwen’s sock clad feet as she enters the bathroom. “Leave,” She manages to get out before her body contracts once more, her stomach forcing her to double over the bowl again. From the sound of the running tap, she can tell Gwen has ignored her and it just makes her angrier. “I want you to leave, Gwen.” She grits out when her stomach eases enough to let her sit up.  
“Mildred,” Gwen sighs, trying not to roll her eyes as if dealing with a particularly petulant child. She remembers when Mildred caught a particularly nasty bout of the flu one year. All of Gwen’s tender notions of nursing the woman back to health were swiftly disillusioned by Mildred’s swinging moods. She recalls the hours she wanted nothing more than to be held and the hours she refused to let Gwen even enter the room. As was the case with her, there was rarely any middle ground. Even now, she holds her head up proud as the rest of her shivers against the cold tile.  
“You said you were leaving.”  
“I said if I left…” Gwen corrects as she sits herself on the edge of the bathtub and brings a damp towel to Mildred’s face, both of them ignoring her wincing at the hand moving towards her face. “I’m not leaving you like this, Mildred.” She says, one hand dabbing away the clammy sweat beading along the woman’s hairline while the other cautiously rubs her back.  
“You don’t -” She hiccups, another heave on its way, “don’t have to stay.” She says before she launches her head over the porcelain bowl once more. She knows she needs to bring her breathing back under control, she needs to breathe in and breathe out, but it’s so hard as her stomach tries its hardest to throw everything up and the less that comes out, the harder it tries and the harder it tries the harder it is to get her lungs to breathe in and breathe out. She closes her eyes and rests her head on her forearm. She wants Gwen to leave, and she wants Gwen to stay, to keep stroking her back like she is now, with firm and gentle strokes. She wants the day to move forward to after Gwen leaving, and she wants it to rewind to this morning before the fight. She wants - oh God. She doubles over and heaves once more.  
“Oh my Darling,” Gwen murmurs, rising to yank the bath towel off the hook on the door and wraps it around Mildred’s shaking frame before her hand resumes its work. “This is not how this day was supposed to go, was it?”  
“Mmhmm,” Mildred whimpers out, her stomach starting to slow its contractions, but still not enough to sit up. She’s tired. She’s so, so tired of everything, herself included. She just wants to be like every other woman she sees in the store. She just wants to be normal. She wants to come home to the woman she loves, she wants to let her love her, she wants to love her. She wishes she could see herself as Gwen sees her… Gwen always seems to see her at her best, better than she ever thought she could be. Never broken, never anything less than… She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know how Gwen sees her anymore. Maybe she sees her as old, tired, weak, crazy. She doesn’t want to work in hospitals anymore, where she spends all day wondering if she’s just as crazed as they are. She must be, maybe she always has been? How else could she explain…any of this?  
  
With her body finally settled, soothed in no small part by Gwen’s quiet whispers, her firm touch on her back, Mildred looks up, face red with shame and anger and being upside down. “May I?” Gwen asks, flinching when Mildred yanks the damp towel from her hands and wipes her face with it. Mildred wants nothing more than to rise up and put space between them, but she feels too unsteady, and doubts she can get up without needing help, or without making even more of a fool of herself, so she sits up taller, straighter and holds her head high. “There was a letter Gwen.” There. The words she wanted to get out earlier.  
“Mildred,” Gwen counters softly, not wanting to push her, “There was no letter.”  
“I wrote it while you were gardening Gwen. I remember every moment of that day. There was a letter. I left it on the bedside table,” Mildred lets herself replay every moment of that night. She wants to reach out a hand across space and time to touch herself on the shoulder, tell her not to leave, tell her to stay with Gwen. “I left it on the bedside table and I went to leave and…” Her voice breaks off. She was lying when she said she didn’t regret leaving. She regrets everything. Every moment of every day has the weight of regret around it. She regrets everything that kept her from this woman who is balanced precariously on the edge of the bathtub, watching her, when she should be leaving. “And I went back and I kissed you. So **_hard_**.”  
“I thought it was a dream,” Gwen murmurs, a sad sort of smile ghosting across her face.  
“You were asleep.”  
“I remember. I said something about tomorrow?” Gwen asks.  
“You did.” Mildred presses her lips together to keep from crying at the thought of the tomorrow that never came.  
“And then you left,” Gwen says, a little shaky herself. “When I woke up and you were gone…”  
“Gwen, I don’t… I don’t want to know.” She shakes her head from side to side, she can’t do it, she can’t sit here, she can’t - “I - I **_hurt_** you, and I know that. But I did it to save **_you_**. I imagined it so many times. Too many times. I can’t do it again. I can’t imagine it again. It’s not fair to ask that of you, I know. I **_know_**. But it’s not fair to ask that of **_me_**.” She watches Gwen watch her. She can see her mind spinning behind her eyes, her mouth set in a firm line.  
“Life’s not fair,” Gwen replies, rising and walking out of the bathroom.  
  
Mildred can hear the kitchen faucet, the clicking of the gas stove catching, the clinking of metal against ceramic. She knows what she had said was cowardly. She knows she should’ve listened. She should’ve let Gwen say what she needed. Gwen wasn’t like her, she didn’t know how to hold everything in until it collapsed in onto itself until it becomes a pinprick of dark and silent rage and fury. Gwen has to let everything out. She has to feel everything. Talk about everything. She thrives in the light. She had to put words to everything - words like love, and happiness. More than once she said she’d marry her if she could, and it still makes her blush with embarrassment. Those were not thoughts to say out loud. Those were thoughts to bury deep, deep down.  
  
Gwen was not like her.  
  
Mildred rolls over on her sore knees and groans as she manages to get up. Everything already ached after last night, and her time on the bathroom floor didn’t help her any.She doesn’t think she could feel any older than she does at this moment, making her way to the kitchen where Gwen sits at the table, sipping a cup of coffee. “I’m sorry,” Mildred says, surprising both of them, though neither of them knows what the apology is for. She proceeds to make a cup of weak tea for herself and sits at the table across from Gwen, who still hasn’t said anything. It worries her that Gwen isn’t speaking, though she knew she asked her not to. Gwen always speaks. Even when heartbroken, she would try to put words to the pain and the hurt. “What happened when you woke up Gwen?” She asks softly.  
  
Gwen doesn’t answer, shaking her head no. She has never told anyone. Not her analyst, not Trevor, and now not Mildred. She will carry that **_terror_** with her for as long as she has left on this earth, that fear that still haunts her when she wakes panicked in the dark. She will carry whatever she can for Mildred because Mildred already carries too much inside her. It was foolish of her to try to talk about it, she knows that now. “Gwen?” Mildred asks, reaching a hand out to hers, still wrapped around her now cool mug. Gwen simply gets up, makes herself another cup of coffee, adding too much of the instant powder, trying not to grimace at how awful it tastes. She should’ve bought proper coffee yesterday. She should’ve remembered. She doesn’t realize Mildred’s risen to join her until she turns around, sees her standing a foot or two away. “Gwen?”  
“There was no letter Mildred.” She states flatly. “I tore the flat up, there was nothing. I even begged Betsy for anything she may have known if you can believe it?” A hollow, empty laugh, “But there was nothing but what you left behind, and me.”  
  
Mildred’s blood runs cold. She **_knows_** there was a letter. She placed it on the bedside table, away from the breeze. She placed it where the book she stole had laid. She had spent hours composing the letter in her mind and then wrote it quickly as Gwen gardened after they came back from the beach. She still remembers the stickiness between her thighs and the salt drying on her skin as she wrote it. She remembers trying not to cry as Gwen sang along with the radio (off-key) outside. She thinks it was Peggy Lee. She couldn’t bear to listen to her once she was back stateside. She knows she left the letter. She knows it as she knows her name. As she knows Gwen’s heart. As she knows it was Edmund.  
  
She had left too late.  
  
She should’ve left sooner.  
  
She could feel him. She could **_feel_** him all week long before she left. She could feel his eyes watching her, watching them. It was Edmund and he was in their place and he had been close enough to touch Gwen. To **_touch_** Gwen, **_her_** Gwen. He knew she was hers. Edmund had found her and, and - she takes Gwen’s face and kisses her so hard that they stumble backwards, slamming against the counter and the cabinets. She kisses her so hard she doesn’t care that she can taste salt and copper, or that she can’t breathe. She only cares about the fact that Gwen is **_alive_**.  
  
Gwen **_survived_**.  
  
She finally breaks the kiss when she absolutely must, sucking in lungfuls of air, still not letting go of Gwen’s face. Gwen, who’s so absolutely confused, and angry but still holding onto her, still wiping away the tears off of Mildred’s cheeks. Keeps repeating her name. “Edmund,” She finally chokes out, before placing another rough kiss on Gwen’s bruised lips. “It was Edmund.”  
“Mildred, what was Edmund? Darling, you’re scaring me.”  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Mildred rambles, peppering kisses against the other woman’s face, before letting go. Stepping back. Taking a breath.  
“What’s happening?” Gwen asks.  
“I knew he was there. I felt it. I **_felt_** it and I thought it was in my head but I knew, I **_knew_** if he wasn’t there, he would be. He would come and he would take you away, because you were the only thing I loved, Gwen. More than him. More than me. It was **_you_**. You were the only way to hurt me, and I had to leave.” She’s pacing around the small kitchen, the words, all the words pouring out as things began to make sense. “But he was there all along. And he didn’t have to hurt you, because I was **_wrong_**. If he hurt you, if he **_touched_** a single hair on your head, if he **_killed_** you, I would’ve had nothing left to keep me from killing him myself. Cheerfully. I can’t believe it, I can’t **_believe_** I didn’t realize it.”  
“See what?”  
“The only thing worse than him killing you was leaving you alive, out in the world…”  
“Away from you…” It starts to connect for Gwen.  
“Yes!” Mildred exclaims, her eyes wide, taking in the other woman as if she’s finally seeing her for the first time, healthy and alive. “The only thing that would’ve hurt me more than you dying was not being with you and he **_won_**. I did it willingly. I gave him exactly what he wanted. It was my fault. All of this, all of this was my fault.”  
“Darling,” Gwen takes her hands in hers, grounds her, as she always does, “Darling, **_none_** of this was your fault. **_None_** of it. Edmund just-”  
“Edmund won.”  
“This isn’t a game, Mildred.” Gwen corrects her, tugging her closer, “This is our lives, and last I checked he’s dead. He’s dead and we’re alive. We are alive. Do you hear me?”  
“We’re alive!” Mildred laughs, beaming from ear to ear. “You’re alive, Gwen, and I’m alive, and we’re here.”  
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, my darling girl.” She joyfully exclaims, running a hand through Mildred’s auburn hair.  
“We’re alive,” Mildred repeats, kissing the other woman, her hands fumbling with the buttons on Gwen’s blouse, her trousers. “And we’re here…”  
“Mildred -”  
“Please, Gwen. Please?” She pleads, desperate to feel the woman beneath her, taste her, hear her. Desperate to prove that they’re both alive. So much of what she had believed in, so much of what she has known just vanished, gone. The very ground she’s standing on… Change is not something Mildred Ratched enjoys or particularly aspires to. She appreciates consistency, routine, the known, and now… She feels Gwen’s arms wrap around her, holding her close.  
  
And then there, in front of the kitchen windows, bathed in the bright, white sunlight she begins to cry.  
  
It starts in her chest, her stomach - these gasps of air that work their way up, her body rocking against the other woman’s. It’s soon followed by a raspy sound, sixteen years of pain, of grief, of rage and sorrow and anger just pouring out of her from the depths of her soul. Every single thing that she had pushed deep, deep down until it had become a pinprick of white-hot emotion begins to come up, one after another, and there’s nothing she can do to stop it. Things she has forgotten that she has forgotten, every indignity, every slight, every dismissal, or snide comment, or act of aggression, it all just rushes out. Every unwanted look, or touch. Every single moment she’s longed for something, someone. Every minute of every day she had spent alone, and terrified, and angry, and powerless and so, so little. All of it just comes out and out and out until she’s emptied of it until there’s nothing left holding her together except Gwen’s two arms, Gwen’s voice, Gwen’s love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **b:** Title is from Leonard Cohen’s ‘Did I Ever Love You’ _"Did I ever love you // Did I ever need you // Did I ever leave you // Was I ever able // Was it ever settled // Was it ever over"_  
>  **c:** There's definitely a part of their fight that I stole from Beckett’s 'Waiting for Godot', because I'm nothing if not pretentious y'all! 
> 
> **d:** So, there's a lot of music both mentioned or alluded to... I may put out a playlist... would that be weird?


	15. interlude - the mercy of the night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her name is Mildred and she’s the reason Gwen can no longer sleep through the night. She’s by turns cruel and contrite and she has taken up residence in Gwen’s mind and her heart.  
> …  
> Mildred is here with her.
> 
> Mildred holds her hand and tells her she’s going to be all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **a:** This is mildly different from my usual style, but if it doesn’t suit you, please feel free to skip to the next chapter, you won’t miss much plot.

* * *

_1947 - Santa Lucia  
  
_Gwendolyn doesn’t remember much about the day she was shot. One day in the future she will have an analyst that she pays $30 an hour to talk to who will tell her this is an attempt at sublimating the memory and what the memory means. Right now, however, she is hovering in that twilight place that she can’t name, she can’t identify. Her mind is lucid but she herself is buoyant, floating in the absence that engulfs her.  
  
It’s rather restful here. Dark and cool. She hasn’t been sleeping well, but she can’t remember why. She remembers being tired during the day and then restless at night. The cause is there, it on the tip of her tongue, it’s just out of reach in the dark. She wonders briefly if she’s dead but after a moment’s consideration comes to the conclusion that she’s likely not, but if she were, she rather thinks she wouldn’t mind if it was like that film with David Niven and Kim Hunter. Death doesn’t scare her, not hers, anyway. She’s not a particularly religious person, so she’s always suspected that when it ends, it ends. That’s what she hopes for anyway. She hopes it’s quick. She hopes it was quick for Elizabeth.  
  
Elizabeth.  
  
She remembers Elizabeth. She remembers loving her, of being loved by her. She will never see her again, will she? She didn’t even get to say goodbye to her properly before she shipped off - their night interrupted by last-minute errands, packing in her bedroom with her family always coming in, going out. Elizabeth, who was her roommate’s best friend in freshman year. Elizabeth, who was always so kind, so brave, who always did what was right. Elizabeth who after five years took her hand in the dark movie theatre and who held it all picture long. Elizabeth knew before either of them had words for what they felt when they were together when they were apart. She doesn’t know what’s happening in the theatre, not really, she just holds her hand a little tighter. She doesn’t remember the film, just the feeling of awe, the heat spreading through her entire body.  
  
She remembers the sudden chill as the lights rise in the theatre and Elizabeth lets go of their hand. They don’t talk about it afterwards, but every time they’re alone together, she takes her hand and it’s enough until it isn’t. She remembers watching her come bounding out of her house, radiant, in a dress Gwen had never seen before, navy with little flowers everywhere. Her blonde bob set just so. She kisses her that night, in the shadows of her house, and suddenly Gwen feels still, complete, even if it’s for just a moment. And then sixteen years later, she gets a letter from Elizabeth written months ago and a call from Elizabeth’s mother telling her Elizabeth died in service, but the Navy won’t tell her where and they won’t tell her when.  
  
Somewhere in there, she marries Trevor, it’s the only option either of them has, really. She remembers spending her wedding night alone, Elizabeth unwilling to continue with a married woman, even if it was in name only. Infidelity is the line she’s unwilling to cross until she was. And then she enlisted, because they needed nurses and Elizabeth was the best there was, of course. Elizabeth was smart and Elizabeth was kind, and she was brave and always did what was right. They never got to say goodbye, not really.  
  
She remembers another nurse. Also smart, also brave - she was not kind though, was she? She can’t remember. She had eyes that - what colour were they? Yes, eyes that were honey brown. While Elizabeth seemed to float, this other woman seemed tethered to the ground, weighed down with sorrow.  
  
Where there was absence before, Gwen suddenly feels the encroachment of reality. She feels herself start to sink. There are sounds she can’t make out. The very specific sound of people moving about while trying to be quiet. She hears beeping.  
  
She fights to keep the memories of Elizabeth with her but they seem to drift just out of her grasp. She struggles to remember Elizabeth but all she can remember is this other woman with the dark eyes.  
  
Mildred.  
  
Her name is Mildred.  
  
Her name is Mildred and she’s the reason Gwen can no longer sleep through the night. She’s by turns cruel and contrite and she has taken up residence in Gwen’s mind and her heart.  
  
The room goes quiet and she begins to feel warm. It starts in her right hand and rolls over her slowly. She hears something, someone, but can’t quite make the words out. There’s a searing pain on her left side. Her mouth and throat are dry. Her eyes burn when they open, but they open.  
  
Mildred.  
  
Mildred is here with her.  
  
Mildred holds her hand and tells her she’s going to be all right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **b:** The title is from Elbow’s ‘ _The Night Will Always Win_ ’  
> “ _Well, did you trust your noble dreams // And gentle expectations to the mercy of the night // The night will always win // The night has darkness on its side_ ”  
>  **c:** For those who said a companion playlist wouldn't be weird, you can find it on spotify called nothing more (or search for the username is FirstActProblems)


	16. i can feel it getting closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wants to be surrounded by the sounds of Gwen, the scent of Gwen, the sights of her things all over the house and the taste of her on her tongue, on her fingers. She wants to climb inside of Gwen and be carried in her heart forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **a:** Somehow it also became a Christmas fic? I swear I didn’t mean for it to happen, but here we are…  
>  **b:** Sooo... if y'all thought I mean and cruel before... *sips tea*

* * *

_December 1966 - Salem, OR_

She stirs awake to the faint sound of the radio, the clean spicy scent of the Christmas tree, Gwen’s fingers in her hair. When she dies, many, many years from now, this will still be one of her most favourite, most cherished memories. She burrows deeper into Gwen’s lap, tugs the blanket around her shoulders, sighs with contentment. This is all she could ever want from life, only this and nothing more. “Darling,” Gwen speaks softly, her fingers still stroking her hair, “Are you awake?” Mildred nods and murmurs, but isn’t ready to open her eyes. Isn’t ready for what may come next. “Good. Because I want to tell you something, Mildred Ratched,” She begins, her voice sure and firm and low. “I want to tell you that I love you, that I have **_always_** loved you, and that I will continue to love you until my dying day.” Mildred keeps her eyes closed, wills her body to still itself, “There is nothing you can do to change that. I will love you just as much if you choose to never see me again as I will from right beside you here in your own home, do you understand that?” Mildred opens her eyes, sees nothing but the expanse of Gwen’s blouse. She wants to reach out and touch the tidy little buttons. Her hand slips out from under the blanket and touches one, her fingertip circling the hard edge of it. She wanted to touch it, and then she did. She blinks. She wanted to do something and she did it and nothing bad happened. A wave of incredible relief settles over her.

She rolls onto her back and looks up at Gwen- really looks at her - with her kiss-swollen lips and the wrinkles around her eyes. Her skin is softer and thinner, her hair gold and silver now instead of the candle flame it once was. If she’s honest, she’s changed so much that she looks like a different woman and yet, she’d know that smile anywhere, she knows the tone of her voice she uses when she’s being serious and those looks. She looks at Gwen and now she sees Gwen. She sees the woman she once was, but more importantly, she sees the woman she became. A woman who had her heart broken, and still didn’t let it harden her, or scare her. She had always known Gwen was brave to the point of being foolish, but now she can’t help but be awed by the woman above her. Mildred doesn’t know if she would’ve had it in her to be so open, so willing, over and over and over again. “It’s up to you,” Gwen continues softly, her fingertips tracing Mildred’s jaw, “What you want to do with that. It’s up to you what happens next, but I need you to know that. I need to know that I’ve told you everything.”

She wants to answer but knows now is not the time. She wants to answer that wherever Gwen goes, she will go, willingly and happily. She wants nothing more than to wake up beside her every morning and fall asleep beside her every night. She wants to go grocery shopping and make dinner and argue about the way the laundry is folded and read and walk and just **_be_** with her once more. She wants to be surrounded by the sounds of Gwen, the scent of Gwen, the sights of her things all over the house and the taste of her on her tongue, on her fingers. She wants to climb inside of Gwen and be carried in her heart forever. But she also knows that they’re two very different people, people who have had a lifetime apart and it will not be that easy, for either of them, to learn how to fall back in step with the other. There are changes that must be made, accommodations on both sides. They’re no longer young and rash, but perhaps Gwen still has enough hope to carry the both of them yet? Gwen, who is looking down at her with so much kindness, so much tenderness that it breaks what little is left of her heart. Gwen, whose fingers have gently landed in the hollow of her throat, her suprasternal notch. Gwen who touches her with nothing but reverence and concern and an unfathomable amount of love. It occurs to Mildred now that leaving may have been hard, but being left and coming back must be just as hard, if not harder. She raises her hand to Gwen’s and holds it lightly. She understands what Gwen is asking. Gwen is asking if there’s room in her life, in her heart for her. Gwen is asking if she can make space among the fear and the terror and the hurt for her. If she can try to make room for her and her way of life alongside her own. And the truth is, she isn’t sure. She has lived for so long like this, it’s no longer a choice. It’s survival, it’s all she knows. It’s a part of her. It was here before Gwen and it will be here long after her.

She doesn’t know what to do, what to say and Gwen smiles at her, and Mildred can see her glow from within again, the weight of today having finally eased off of her shoulders. She wants to hold her, she wants to have her, and be had by her, she wants to mark her body with kisses as she’s done her heart and her soul. But instead, she plays the long game, trusts that there will be time enough tonight to show her what she cannot quite say, and smiles as she stretches like a cat, arching her back and raising her arms. She loves watching Gwen’s breath catch in her chest, as it does almost every time she stretches. It doesn’t matter how much time passes, apparently, Gwen will always want her and that scares her. It terrifies her to an unimaginable degree. It’s one thing to **_want_** to be known, be seen, and an entirely another thing to **_be_** known and seen, and to be loved in spite of it all.

“What time is it?” Mildred asks, settling deeper into Gwen’s lap. “How long have I been asleep?”  
“It’s a little after one,” Gwen answers, checking the time on Mildred’s watch, smirking. “You haven’t been asleep for too long.”  
“Long enough.” She counters. “You brought the tree in?”  
“I wanted to make sure you had something nice to wake up to.”  
“I have you.”  
“Flirt,” Gwen smirks, watching Mildred take her hand in hers and hold it tightly to her chest.  
“When are you leaving?” She softly asks, turning her head to look at the tree, to avoid Gwen.  
“Trying to get rid of me?” She asks lightly, carefully.  
“I like having you here,” Mildred responds sharply.  
“You do?”  
“I do, and I was hoping maybe you could stay for Christmas.”  
“That’s two weeks away!”  
“Yes, I know.” A deep sigh, an exasperated tone.  
“I have work Monday.”  
“Oh.”  
“But if you’ve been a very good girl, maybe I could always come back up for Christmas…?” She asks, nudging Mildred’s head in her direction.  
“Really?”  
“Really. Besides, I think it’ll be good for us to have some time apart.”  
“We’ve had sixteen years apart Gwen, I don’t want anymore.”  
“You know what I mean. I can come up for Christmas and we can talk about what’s next.”  
“What **_is_** next?”  
“That depends, my darling girl, on if you want hot chocolate or to trim the tree?”  
“Both!” Mildred grins, beaming up as if she doesn’t have a care in the world other than making this very decision. She knows what Gwen means, she knows what she’s doing. She will let it go for now.  
“Then both it is.” Gwen agrees. “Ready to start the day again?”  
“Absolutely.”

And so they rise from the couch and begin to move cautiously around the other. Nerves still raw, the air still charged with… Everything. Gwen convinces Mildred to let her step out for a moment, get some cocoa (“You can’t trim a tree without cocoa, Mildred!” She states with all seriousness. “And certainly not without marshmallows.”) while Mildred begins to lay out the decorations Gwen bought, marvelling at the intricate glass balls and finials, the strands and strands of lights. There’s even a large angel tree topper, complete with tinsel halo and long brown hair. It feels wrong to begin without Gwen though, so she begins to roam around the house, anxious for the other woman to return. Is this what it will be like when she leaves her tomorrow? The house too empty, too quiet? She puts away the dishes she washed earlier. She re-folds the towels in the bathroom, replaces the face towel. She moves Gwen’s suitcase out of the front hall and back into the bedroom where it belongs. She picks up the book Gwen had read this morning, forgotten on the bedside table, and contemplates keeping it, borrowing it, so to speak, until she comes back, like a talisman of sorts, a reason for her to come back.  
  
The front door opens, and she can’t help herself, she throws the book on the bed and rushes to the front door, takes her face in her hands and kisses her. “Welcome back.” She finally greets her, breathless, once she’s had her fill.  
“Well, thank you,” Gwen blushes, “Though you know I’ll expect that greeting every time now?” She teases, shrugging off her coat, toeing off her shoes. “It is cold out there, Mildred. How do you stand it?”  
“You’ve gotten soft in California,” Mildred responds, taking the grocery bag from her and heading into the kitchen, “Weren’t you the one regaling me with stories of ice skating and tobogganing?”  
“Still…” Gwen begins, slipping her cold hands around Mildred’s waist, causing her to yelp, jump against her, “This is too much.”  
“We’ll just have to be sure to get you some sensible clothes before you come back.” She wants to ask, make sure she’s still coming back, that she hasn’t changed her mind on her short trip to the store, but doesn’t.  
“Yes, I’ll have to dig them out of the basement. You haven’t started the tree?” She asks, poking her head into the living room after she’s set the milk on the stove to simmer.  
“I wanted to wait for you. Didn’t seem right otherwise.”  
“I forgot how sentimental my darling girl was.” She smiles at Mildred as she crosses over to the radio and switches it on. She can feel the other woman stare at her, but continues to fiddle with the radio, spinning the dial this way and that until she finds something quiet that she likes. Moonlight Serenade, she’s always had a soft spot for the song. When she finally turns around, Mildred is still staring at her. “What?”  
“Say it again,” Mildred instructs.  
“Say what?” Oh. “My darling girl?” She repeats, stepping closer to the other woman, taking her in her arms, “Dance with me, my darling girl?”  
“It’s silly!” Mildred blushes, and she can’t tell if it’s the shiver of delight she still gets at being called Gwen’s darling girl, her girlhood being decades behind her, or the invitation to dance.  
“It’s love.”  
“Is that what it is?” She breathlessly repeats as she lets Gwen’s arms wrap around her waist, pulling her close, their bodies beginning to move together.  
“Might be.” She murmurs, as Mildred finds her head leaning on Gwen’s shoulder, taking a deep breath of the other woman, who smells of her shampoo, and of the chill outside. It’s a restful scent. One she can get used to if she lets herself. Just like the noise Gwen always makes, humming, like now, low and steady in her ear as she leads their swaying bodies into the kitchen, her hand leaving Mildred’s waist only to stir the simmering milk, before returning it to where it was. The song ends, and they regretfully pull apart. “Thank you for the dance.” Gwen dips her head in Mildred’s direction.  
“Any time…” Her mouth stays open, a word caught in her throat, but she cannot get it out, so she simply shuts it.  
“I’ll be in to help with the tree as soon as the cocoa’s done?”  
“Mmmmhmmm.” She nods, makes a sound, and returns to the living room where her mind quickly allows itself to be consumed with how to best begin.  
  
She begins with the lights, starts by measuring the distance from the outlet to the tree, and then begins to methodically wind the strand of candy coloured bulbs through the branches, stopping only when Gwen says her name, making sure she sees her before she briefly touches her shoulder, handing her a mug. “Gwen,” She looks up, “Is there any cocoa in this at all?”  
“Sure there is, it’s just under all the marshmallows.”  
“That’s hardly healthy.”  
“What? We haven’t eaten all day…” She grins, hoping to skip the sadness of the morning. “Besides, it’s not like I brought cookies over?” She says, with all seriousness as she holds a plate of cookies out from behind her back.  
“You’re a child, Gwendolyn.” Mildred stares at the plate, knowing she shouldn’t eat this much sugar on an empty stomach.  
“I absolutely am,” Gwen confirms, “But I also want to spoil you. Make up for lost time and all that.”  
“Gwen…”  
“The past is the past Mildred, like it or not, we can’t change it. But we can decide how we want to move forward.”  
“And how would you like to do that?”  
“By feeding you cookies and cocoa and spoiling you rotten every day you’ll let me.” She states as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And to her, perhaps it is. Mildred doesn’t say anything, only looks at the other woman cooly, and then takes a cookie from the plate and dunks it into her cocoa, and returns her attention to the tree, pretending she can’t feel the satisfaction rolling off Gwen.  
  
Gwen moves to the table and begins to thread the ornament hooks onto the delicate glass balls and finials. There’s probably more colour on the table, on the tree than there is in the whole of Mildred’s house, and she loves it because she knows Mildred loves it. She won’t say it, but it’s evident in the way she’s tenderly twisting the lights into place, stepping back every so often and eyeing the tree critically, taking a sip of cocoa, and then returning to her work. When she’s like this, Gwen hates herself for wondering how she could even think of not being with her, of fixing her. She hates herself for getting her hopes up again, despite this afternoon’s wounds still being fresh in both of their minds. But then Mildred lightly places a hand on the small of her back, asks her to look at the tree before they begin placing the ornaments, and she just hums under her touch, the redness in her cheeks no longer there from her embarrassment at her earlier thoughts, but from her embarrassment at how much she absolutely adores the other woman.  
“You don’t think it’s lopsided, do you?” Mildred asks nervously, her arm pressed against Gwen’s as they look at the tree.  
“Not at all. Like everything you do, it’s absolutely meticulous.”  
“Because I think this section here -” She steps away and gestures to some part of the tree, indistinguishable from the whole in its perfection.  
“Mildred, it’s lovely.”  
“Are you sure?” She asks again, “Because once the ornaments are on it’ll be so much harder to fix and I just want it to be perfect.”  
“Nothing in this world is perfect, Mildred.” Gwen reminds her, stepping closer to her again. She wants to touch her, reassure her for some reason but also doesn’t want to crowd her. “Though you and your tree come close.”  
“Our tree, Gwen.” Mildred corrects firmly.  
“Our tree?” She raises a brow, quirks her lips.  
“You bought it.” She quickly covers.  
“For you.” Gwen points out, “But I’d be pleased to share it with you if that’s what you’re suggesting.” Her quirk turns to a smile as Mildred looks at her, tries to read her intentions. “No ulterior motives. Sometimes it’s just nice to have something that’s yours.”  
“And sometimes it’s nice to have someone to share it with.”  
“All right then,” Gwen leans over to place a chaste kiss on Mildred’s cheek, “Ours.”  
“Ours.” She repeats, all but breathless. It had been so long since she had to share or wanted to share, anything of hers. But then again, Gwen had always been different.  
“Ok if I start on dinner while you finish up the tree?”  
“You don’t want to help me?” Mildred asks, suddenly very interested in the ornaments laid out on the table.  
“I…Didn’t want to crowd you,” Gwen confesses.  
“You don’t crowd me, Gwen. I just,” She pauses, picking up a particularly pretty glass ball. “I’ve just forgotten how to be with people.”  
“I don’t want to push you.”  
“Like you think you pushed me this morning?”  
“I did though, without meaning to.”  
“Gwen, I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop -” Mildred’s so focused on not looking at the other woman she misses the colour drain completely from her face, “That I may have pushed too hard. Or pulled, I don’t know. But I’d like - ” She steels herself and looks up at a pale Gwen, “I’d like very much if you would help me?” She hates herself for asking, but she knows what it means to the other woman to be wanted. To be needed. When she was younger, when they were **_both_** younger, she had found it easier to ask for these things, to ask Gwen to love her as she was. Now that she’s older, the idea fills her with an unspeakable terror. Gwen loves who she **_thought_** Mildred was, but she doesn’t know this new Mildred, not enough to love her.  
“All right then,” Gwen brushes a hand across Mildred’s cheek, “Let’s decorate our tree. What’s your plan?”  
“Well,” She releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding, “I was thinking…”

And so they work side by side, first with the delicate red glass balls, and then the blue ones, then the golden finials and the clear glass icicles. They work until Mildred is satisfied the tree is as perfect as it should be, each branch shining brightly as if hung with jewels. She loves it, and it already hurts her to think about it having to take it down. “It’s beautiful,” Gwen tells her as she wraps her arms around her from behind, holds her lightly.  
“It is, isn’t it?” Mildred agrees, turning her head back to look at the other woman.  
“Mmmm.” Gwen agrees before she places a quick peck on the other woman’s lips. She isn’t sure how to act, what to do. Everything feels off, like a pebble in a shoe. She should tell Mildred, she knows this, but she doesn’t know how. The words still so foreign in her mind that she cannot conceive of saying them out loud.  
“What’s wrong?”  
“Just hungry, I think.” She lies, resting her chin on Mildred’s shoulder. “Salad with some leftover stew ok?” She watches Mildred watch her, and knows she’ll have to tell her, she’ll do it after dinner. “Come keep me company?”  
  
Together they make dinner, Mildred stirring the stew, careful not to scorch it, and Gwen making the salad and the dressing. They talk around things, neither of them sure what to do, what to say, about the growing chasm between them. They can see the other woman, and they can feel them, but they can’t quite reach them. So together they eat, and together they clean up, wash the dishes, make tea.

Neither of them are ready for bed, both dreading the weight of being so close and so distant, so they settle on the couch, each on their own end, and begin to watch the Saturday night movie, Ingrid Bergman and Cary Grant are spies, playing at not being in love and never once admitting that they are until it seems it’s entirely too late. “Marriage must be wonderful with this sort of thing going on every day,” Ingrid Bergman says, as she threatens to cook Cary Grant dinner, and it makes Gwen smile because it’s true. She was never married to Mildred, not really, not legally, but she would’ve if she could’ve. She would’ve done anything to prolong their time together. She found she loved to take care of the other woman when she was able to. She would make her sack lunches when she worked at the hospital, and dinners to come home to. She would take her clothes to the dry cleaners and pick up her favourite treats from the bakery. She would run her baths and read her the news. And at night, she would rub her shoulders, trail her hands around her body. Gwen blushes and shifts in her seat, her mind desperate to move away from those particular memories of what she did for Mildred, what she did to her. She relishes the fact that she could do it, that her body hadn’t given up yet, that she had not just anyone, but **_Mildred_** to take care of - she feels Mildred’s hand touch hers and she smiles across the couch, opens her arms and once again, Mildred moves into them, burrowing herself against the other woman. She can feel Mildred’s hand settle above her heart and she worries she’ll feel it speed up, grow erratic. She can’t help it, her mouth goes dry and her mind whirls with very specific memories, ones she had buried deep, deep down, that have begun to work their way back up now that Mildred is near.

The merciful thing would be to leave tomorrow, she thinks. She should leave and never come back. It would hurt Mildred, yes, but in the long run… In the long run, it’s the best thing for her. Except she knows she could never do that. That would be the very thing she chastised Mildred for, had cursed her for years over, making that decision for her. And suddenly she **_knows_** how hard it must’ve been. Oh, she knew it would’ve been hard, but now she **_knows_** with every fibre of her being how hard it was for Mildred. She places a kiss on Mildred’s head, nestled against her shoulder. She’s going to hurt her and the idea alone makes her want to die rather than pain her. Especially seeing her half-asleep on her chest, lit by the black and white of the television and the gumdrop coloured lights of the tree. She enjoys watching her sleep because she knows how rare a good night’s sleep is for her. Perhaps she’ll tell her in the morning after a good night’s - she’s distracted by Mildred’s sigh as Cary Grant takes Ingrid Bergman in his arms and kisses her to distract her husband from realizing their (mostly) true aim as spies. Gwen’s always loved that moment, she remembers seeing this in theatres with Trevor and being swept up in longing between the two characters. It reminded her of Elizabeth at the time, of the first time they kissed, hidden by the shadows as she walked her up to her front door. She remembers nothing else but wanting to kiss her all night and then not being able to help it. She remembers Elizabeth dragging her around the corner, pressing her against the brick wall of the garage, she remembers their kiss being interrupted by the porch light switching on. God, she hasn’t thought of Elizabeth in years.

She forces herself to pay attention to the screen, to poor Ingrid Bergman being poisoned by her husband, to Mildred, warm and in her arms. Though bittersweet, she wants this moment to never end. She wants a contented Mildred and Christmas lights and Ingrid Bergman and Cary Grant embracing as she lays dying, no longer able to hide from their true feelings, hide from each other. Now when she thinks of this film, she thinks of Mildred. The music swells and the credits roll soon after, with the lovers having made their escape to the hospital, and then the news begins.

“My cancer’s back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **c:** The title's from Matt Berninger’s ‘ _Collar of Your Shirt_ ’  
> “ _But everything is screaming out for you // When you're not around // But I can feel it getting closer // Like summer on the edges_ ”  
>  **d:** The film is Hitchcock's Notorious and it's literally *everything* (Swoons)  
>  **e:** The revelation that comes has been planned from the start… There are hints here and there... and I'm SORRY! I'm SO INCREDIBLY SORRY!


	17. no saving anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all works to remind her that Gwen, while beloved, is flawed, is human, like herself. It tells her Gwen can feel too deeply, too much like she does. It tells her she’s not alone, she’s not wrong for having these thoughts, these wants, and God how she wants. She wants and wants and wants and she doesn’t think she will ever get enough of Gwen, enough of her love, enough of anything.

* * *

_December 1966 - Salem, OR  
  
_

“The cancer’s back.”  
  
Gwen admits staring straight ahead at the screen. She feels Mildred freeze in her arms, her breath held and then slowly released. “I found out in September,” She confesses, “It was actually the reason I agreed to see you when you came to San Francisco. Figured it may be my last chance. Make my peace and all that.”  
“Gwen, this isn’t funny.”  
“Really? Because I think it’s a riot.” She laughs - a brittle sound, hollow and empty as Mildred pulls herself back and out of Gwen’s arms. “I was supposed to die the first time around and you gave me time, only to leave me alone with it. Now it’s back and so are you, but there are no miracles left.” She holds up her palms, shrugging at the futility of it all. She chuckles at the irony of it all, because it’s either laugh or cry, and she refuses to cry.  
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Mildred tries (and fails) to tamp down her slow-growing rage. She doesn’t yell, she doesn’t cry, she simply grows terrifyingly still, turning everything in on herself to keep it from exploding outward. Another pinprick of contained and condensed emotion collects in her belly.  
“I wanted to make sure…” She pauses, reframes her words when she sees Mildred’s eyes go black, “I didn’t want you to make any decisions out of obligation.” She reaches out a hand to the other woman, but Mildred snatches hers away, rises, turns away and begins to pace.  
“You were never, **_ever_** an obligation to me Gwen. Why do you keep-”  
“Mildred, Mildred I’m sorry.” Gwen’s jumped up off the couch, tries to get closer to the other woman, but she feels the anger and anxiety just roil off her as she paces. “Mildred stop,” She stands in front of her, “Stop before you wear a hole out on the carpet.”  
“Don’t make jokes, it’s in poor taste.”  
“I’m sorry.” She opens her arms and Mildred glares at her before stepping into them. “I’m sorry my Darling,” Gwen admits, holding the other woman tightly, pretending she doesn’t feel her shake in her arms. “I found out the day you saw Trevor,” She explains, “That’s why I didn’t call you immediately, why I waited to see you. I had so many appointments and tests and all I could think of was… How **_angry_** I was.”  
“At me?”  
“At everything. It wasn’t **_fair_**. Why did you have to find me **_now_**? Now when I can’t -” She releases an exasperated huff, “And I know life’s not fair, but **_Christ_**. All I wanted, all I have **_ever_** wanted was you, and I know, I know it’s not true, but it seems like to have you in my life there’s always something else I have to trade-off and it’s…” Words fail her. Words have always been her stock-in-trade, her lifelong love and her saving grace and they’ve failed her. They’ve left her with nothing but this ache in her heart and Mildred in her arms.  
  
Mildred tips her head up slightly and stares at Gwen, her reaction so different this time around. Maybe Gwen was right, maybe there is a twisted sort of humour in this, having to repeat this entire journey again. She doesn’t have it in her today of all days to rail against the unfairness of the world, of this twist of fate. She just wants to stand here, with Christmas lights and Gwen and just let everything fall apart around them. Let the lawn turn to fields and the brick walls crumble in the wind and let the weeds grow around them, binding them together until they become one. A monument to each other.  
  
To love.  
  
Her stomach falls. She still loves Gwen, she knows this. She supposes she’s always known this, but the fact that she’s forced to realize it in these circumstances is - she sighs, it doesn’t matter. It only matters that she’s choking on the words now, they’re lodged firmly in her throat and she’s unable to get them out. Perhaps Gwen is more like her than she had given her credit for. Capable of holding such enormity within her slim bones, her tender soul. Her head spins with everything they need to do, and yet it’s Saturday night and there’s nothing they can do, so they stand where they are. There are worse places to be, she realizes than warm and safe in your lover’s arms. Even if your lover is dying.  
  
She has no more tears inside. She can barely register Gwen’s words, as it is. She just wants to crawl into bed and sleep for a hundred days. “Are you ok?” Gwen asks her hand stroking Mildred’s hair.  
“I should be asking you that, shouldn’t I?” Mildred asks, not caring about the bitterness seeping into her tone.  
“When should I have told you, Darling?” She asks patiently.  
“I don’t know,” She answers, still angry, still resentful, still so incredibly tired.  
“Let’s go to bed. Would that be all right?” Gwen asks, placing a tender kiss on the crown of Mildred’s head.  
“Mmmmhm.” Mildred murmurs, nodding her head against Gwen’s body before she pulls herself back. She finds Gwen staring at her, a sad sort of smile on her face and everything hurts all over again. “Don’t,” She begins, “Don’t look at me like that. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”  
“All right.” Gwen keeps smiling at her, leaning over and placing a quick kiss on her cheek. “I’ll wash the dishes and be in in a moment?” She turns to pick up the mugs of cold tea, what’s left of the plate of cookies. Mildred turns off the television, turns off the lights on the tree. She pauses in front of the radio and hesitates for a moment before her hand reaches out, snaps it on. She hears Gwen turn off the faucet, and call out from the kitchen, “Mildred, is that you?” but she doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t know why she did it. “Mildred?” Gwen repeats, leaning in the doorway, smiling.  
“It was quiet.” She counters, before turning to head down the hall, away from Gwen, and her smile.  
  
Once in the bathroom she closes the door, turns on the faucet and takes a good, long look at herself in the mirror. Her eyes are still puffy and her hair is all dishevelled and she barely recognizes the woman who stares back at her when all she knows is the Mildred from fifteen years ago. When had she gotten so old? When had she changed? Still, Gwen seemed to love her all the same, treated her as she did before, Gwen didn’t seem to see or care about the changes. Gwen simply wanted her. Wanted to be beside her. Wanted to love her, and God help her, that’s all she wanted too. It’s all she’s wanted since she left her. The question is how? How could they ever be together after everything?  
  
She takes a calming breath, steadies her nerves. She can hold herself together for one more day until Gwen leaves. After that, she can fall apart, rage against the inequity of it all, but not a moment before. Not until Gwen leaves. She nods to her reflection, as if to seal the deal made with herself, and proceeds to wash her face, brush her teeth, comb her hair. When everything is as it should be, she turns off the water, practices her smile by smiling to herself in the mirror and then heads to the bedroom when Gwen is seated on the bed, waiting. “All right?” Gwen asks, rising to meet her. Mildred doesn’t answer, doesn’t lie, simply reaches her hand out and rests her palm on Gwen’s cheek for a moment. Her heart swells as the other woman instinctively turns towards it. No matter how strong Gwen appears or acts, it thrills her to know just a touch or a word from her can still affect her. Her breathing begins to grow heavy at the thought. Gwen looks at her as if she could read her mind, perhaps she could, and then heads to the washroom herself, leaving Mildred alone.  
  
She’s thankful for the radio and the calm companionship it provides from the next room over as she sheds her clothes and slips into her robe, lost in thought and time as she wonders what this latest revelation means for them. Gwen catches her as she dabs her perfume on her neck, her wrists, she watches from the doorway, as entranced now as she was all those years ago when she sat on the edge of the bed, watching her just like this. “You’re thinking,” Gwen points out, “What about?”  
“I want to be easier.” Her eyes widen. She doesn’t know where those words came from. They weren’t at all what she was thinking about.  
“No, my Darling Girl.” Gwen enters the room, smiles as she tips Mildred’s chin up with her hand, her thumb unconsciously stroking the line of her jaw.  
“No, what Gwen? No, I’m not difficult? No, it wouldn’t be better if I was easier? Better?”  
“Stop it.” Her voice hard, firm. “I won’t hear that about you.”  
“It’s true.”  
“It’s not.” Gwen’s voice will allow no argument. “You, Mildred, you are so incredible, do you know that? You have had - ”  
“Gwen.” She cries out, trying to step away from the other woman, “I’m **_not_**.”  
“My darling girl, you **_are_**.” Gwen counters, blocking the other woman’s exit, “You are astonishing and you always have been and I’m sorry you don’t see that you don’t know that, but it’s true. It’s always been true and it will always be true. Are you easy? No, but who is?”  
“You are.”  
“Not for you I’m not.” Gwen grins, “I antagonize you in a hundred different ways before we even have our morning coffee. For you, I’m not easy.”  
“That’s different,”  
“No, it’s not,” Gwen brushes her hand through Mildred’s hair, playing with the ends that sit on her shoulders, “I do like this cut on you,” She says, changing the topic, defusing the situation.  
“You don’t miss it long?”  
“Mildred, I’m 63, I miss everything,” Gwen chuckles, “But this lets me see more of you. Don’t blush.” She teases, “Or rather, do, I like seeing you blush. I like seeing you. I -” She doesn’t say what they both know was next, doesn’t want Mildred to feel overwhelmed. Obligated. “I don’t want you to change, I don’t want you easier, I just want you to be you, and to try to trust me. And if that takes every day I have -”  
“Gwen,” She warns.  
“Mildred,” She counters. “Cancer or not, I’m not going to live forever. None of us do. I just know I lost you once, and I will not do it again.”  
“No?”  
“No.” Gwen leans her forehead on Mildred’s, the world reduced to the few small inches between them, “I’m sorry I waited so long to come back.”  
  
Mildred has to take a moment, has to close her eyes and swallow down everything she feels. It overwhelms her, the apology. It wasn’t **_all_** her fault. She doesn’t know the last time someone apologized to her. There are too many things, too many thoughts, too many feelings, but she focuses on listening to Gwen’s breathing. Gwen who loves her, Gwen who’s sorry.  
  
Gwen.  
  
“You ok?” Gwen asks softly, pulling her head back to place a soft kiss on Mildred’s forehead.  
“Mmmhmm. You seem to be asking me that a lot tonight.”  
“Only because I care. Now, what do you say to we get ready for bed?” Gwen asks as she begins to undo her blouse. “For some reason, I’m rather tired.” She knows if she’s drained from today’s conversations, the other woman must be absolutely exhausted.  
“Must be that jet lag.” Mildred teases lightly, moving over to help Gwen with the buttons.  
“Must be it.” Gwen agrees. She lets Mildred undress her, lets her take off her bra this time, lets her stand there, cupping her breast in her hand. She tries not to close her eyes, she tries not to enjoy the other woman’s touch as much as she does but fails. She fails every time. It’s as if her body and being were designed for Mildred, and Mildred only. “A lot has changed.” Gwen begins, slowly going breathless as the other woman touches her with purpose and the knowledge that Gwen will not break beneath her thumb brushing across the bundle of nerves, will withstand being palmed, firmly and with purpose. “But not how I feel for you.”  
“I know,” Mildred confirms, wishing she could get the words out, but can’t. Still, she would be surprised if Gwen didn’t know. Gwen always knew. “Bed.” Mildred directs, dropping her hand, walking away to turn off the lights. In the dark she sees Gwen reach for her nightgown but she stops her with a firm “Not tonight.”  
“No?” Gwen asks, and Mildred can’t wait to kiss what she’s sure is a smirk off her mouth.  
“No.” She repeats before slipping her robe off, joining Gwen in the bed.  
  
Tonight is different from the first night and from the second night. Tonight their bodies find each other easily, comfortably, nestling together as if they had done this every night of their lives. At one point they did. Mildred presses her back against Gwen until every square inch of their skin is touching. She supposes she should be the one to hold Gwen, but knows Gwen likes this, prefers it, and if she’s honest, right now she does too. She knows Gwen takes comfort in comforting her, in giving her the safety of her arms and Mildred revels in the chance to just **_be_**.  
  
How did she ever give this up?  
  
How did she live without this and how **_will_** she live without this?  
  
She shivers at the thought and that just makes Gwen hold her closer, but it’s not close enough. It will never be close enough. The thought alone makes her mewl, makes her ache, makes her take Gwen’s hands in hers and guide them where they need to be, one up to her chest and the other down between her legs. She inhales sharply as Gwen’s one hand works against her core, while the other works against her chest, nails scraping just so. They move together in the dark with voices so soft that they can’t be sure if it’s the radio they hear of if it’s the other. Their limbs and hands and hearts and lives becoming intertwined with every rock of a hip, every gasp, every breath that’s held between lungs and lips. “Tell me about the letter, Mildred?” Gwen asks as her fingers slide into the other woman’s wetness, her want of her.  
“Gwen.” She whines, neither certain if she’s whining because of the request or the way the fingers curl within her, pushing and pulling just so.  
“Tell me.” She whispers in the other woman’s ear before leaving a messy trail of kisses from her ear down to the curve of her neck.  
“Gwen, I-” She feels herself tighten as Gwen’s hand begins to pull back and it makes her want her even more. As much as she loves when Gwen is gentle, treating her like a rare and precious gem, she also loves when she can **_feel_** her, really and truly feel her. When she can feel the depth of her desire, when the rage that sometimes simmers between her calmness comes out in nails that dig a little too deep, teeth that scrape a little too hard, fingers that move a little too rough. It all works to remind her that Gwen, while beloved, is flawed, is human, like herself. It tells her Gwen can feel too deeply, too much like she does. It tells her she’s not alone, she’s not wrong for having these thoughts, these wants, and God **_how_** she wants. She wants and wants and wants and she doesn’t think she will ever get enough of Gwen, enough of her love, enough of **_anything_**. “Please,” She clasps Gwen’s hand in hers and holds it in place as she rocks against it, “It said, I -” She cannot say it, she cannot say the word, and she releases a cry, “I would never, could never love anyone else because how could I?” She feels Gwen’s fingers working on her, in her and she squeezes her eyes shut, trying to make the moment last as long as she can before she comes apart in the other woman’s hands. She feels tears begin to collect in the corner of her eyes, she feels Gwen’s teeth graze along the rise of her shoulder and the sharpness makes her press even harder against her. She had thought that having Gwen back in her bed, in her life would feel like it did all those years ago, but it doesn’t. They’re not in Mexico, and it’s not sixteen years ago. It’s **_now_** , and it’s real and it’s enough for Mildred. “And it said that it would be painless…”  
“It. Was. Not. Painless.” Gwen counters, each word punctuated by a twist or a dig of the fingers, a bite with her teeth. “It. Hurts.” She continues, her fingers moving harder, faster. “It will always hurt.” And with that, she slides in another finger, holds Mildred tighter as she arches her body against hers, runs her lips and her tongue along Mildred’s shoulder, savouring the familiar taste of her sweat on her skin. Only now, as Mildred tightens around her fingers, her body shuddering against her and she’s choking on the words she can’t say does Gwen realize that this is **_happening_**. She is really holding Mildred in her arms and she can never let her go.  
  
 ** _Will_** never let her go.  
  
Not again.  
  
They will never get back the time Edmund stole from them, but they can move forward with the time they have left. From the ashes of what once was, what was burned down, they can make something newer, stronger, better.  
  
Truer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **a:** The tile is from The National’s ‘Runaway’ which is like, the quintessential song for our ladies. _“There's no saving anything // Now we're swallowing the shine of the sun // … // Cause I won't run // No I won't be no runaway // What makes you think I'm enjoying being led to the flood?”_  
>  **b:** We're in the home stretch y'all... Three chapters from the end with the goal of having it done by Christmas (or Boxing) Day... Fingers crossed!


	18. interlude - bless the telephone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The idea of being without the other woman is suddenly too much, especially after her revelation the night before so she removes any and all traces of her visit to minimize the dull cramp in her core which twinges at being surrounded by her smells and her memories and not her. She works all afternoon, into early evening until everything was as it was before Gwen’s arrival, but it doesn’t feel as it did before and neither does she.

* * *

_1966 - San Francisco, CA & Salem, OR_

The entire drive back to the airport, the flight back to the city, Gwen is in a state of awe, the type of awe reserved for old testament figures who end up encountering hundred foot tall, thousand-eyed angels or watching the seas part before them. Such was always the response she had whenever she was around Mildred, the experience slightly dizzying - happiness was like oxygen, too much can send your head spinning. Just as Mildred vowed no one would ever touch her the way Gwen did, Gwen knows Mildred has ruined her, absolutely ruined her for any other woman, she did so the first time she kissed her in that living room.

This morning for instance, she wakes first (jet lag still wreaking havoc on her sleep).Their scent lingers in the air - she had forgotten how heavy it was, how it permeates everything - and it thrills her slightly. Who is she to be delighted by this? Like this? She considers moving, but her right arm is numb under the weight of Mildred’s body, and she’d rather cut it off than risk waking her, knowing that sleep doesn’t come easily to the other woman. Unable and unwilling to move, her view is limited to her auburn locks, now curling at the hairline after last night’s exertions, the shell of the ear, the curve of her neck, the slope of other woman’s shoulder. She raises a hand and lightly ghosts her fingertips across the marks she left on her shoulder, bites and broken blood vessels amongst freckles. She should feel ashamed but doesn’t. She doesn’t even remember making them, it’s as if she’s another woman when she’s with Mildred like this. It’s not that she forgets herself or loses herself, just becomes unbound to become **_more_** herself. Her touch, however light, wakes the other woman, who turns to her, eyes still half closed with sleep and somehow it all begins again.  
  
Gwen aches, shifting in her hard plastic seat waiting to board the plane, and she aches the entire flight. Not a romantic sort of aching, but an actual bone-deep ache of muscles being put through their paces after being idle for so long. She spends the flight distracted, wondering what Mildred is doing now, what she did earlier today, what she’ll do tomorrow. She imagines the windows being thrown open despite the December chill and the bed being stripped, everything they had touched being washed twice on the hottest setting, trying to get the carnal aroma out of the house. Gwen would be correct, in part. Mildred does do these things, along with scrub the bathroom, the kitchen, the living room - anywhere Gwen may have touched, may have laid, may have left some trace of herself to linger. The idea of being without the other woman is suddenly too much, especially after her revelation the night before so she removes any and all traces of her visit to minimize the dull cramp in her core which twinges at being surrounded by her smells and her memories and not **_her_**. She works all afternoon, into early evening until everything was as it was before Gwen’s arrival, but it doesn’t feel as it did before and neither does she.  
  
It unsettles her.  
  
It’s always unsettled her how Gwen could do that. Does that. The phone rings early in the evening, and she races to it, but waits for it to ring one more time before she picks up, schools her voice into a calm manner, “Hello?”  
“Hello,” Gwen responds, the smile evident in her voice.  
“Hello,” Mildred repeats, suddenly shy.  
“I just wanted to let you know I’m back safe and sound.”  
“Oh, that’s good. Lots of unpacking?”  
“Mmmm, yes, and laundry. But I’m saving that fun for tomorrow night.”  
“Really?”  
“Yes, tonight I’m taking a long bath and then straight to bed.”  
“Oh.” Mildred’s mind wanders, her cheeks redden.  
“But I wanted to call,” Gwen continues, ignoring or not hearing Mildred’s response, “And tell you I’m here.” A pause lays between them. “Thank you for this weekend.”  
“It wasn’t -”  
“It was.” She cuts off the attempts to brush off or dismiss their time together. “It was to me, so thaaaaaaa-” She’s cut off by a sudden yawn, “‘k you. Goodness, I’m sorry, not sure where that came from.”  
“It came from not sleeping, Gwen. Have you bathed yet?”  
“No, not yet.”  
“Well, off to the bathroom, and then to bed with you please.”  
“I’m…” Gwen’s voice dies off, and Mildred can only imagine her twirling the cord around her fingers.  
“Yes?”  
“This isn’t **_it_** , is it?” She asks, worry clear in her voice.  
“No Gwen,” Mildred responds, voice falsely stoic, “This isn’t it.” They both wait on the line, neither willing to speak and break the intimacy that has fallen between them. “Maybe you can call back later this week?” Mildred offers, hearing Gwen yawn once more, torn between ending the call so the other woman can bathe and rest, and keeping her on the line forever. “When you’re done with your laundry and between your many, many dates.” There’s only a slight edge to her voice, so sharp you can all but see it gleam.  
“No dates, Mildred. I promise.”  
“Well, not on my behalf, I hope?” She responds, forcing a breezy tone.  
“No dear, for mine.” Gwen grins, “I assure you, there’s not-” Another yawn, “I’m sorry, there’s not another woman in the state of California who could compare to you, my Darling.”  
“Just the state of California?”  
“The whole of the world then,” Gwen corrects herself. “I love you.”  
“I…” Mildred takes a breath, kicking herself for teasing Gwen, for bringing up the others. “I miss you already.” And with that, Mildred quickly hangs up the phone, as quickly as if it was on fire.  
  
And so that’s how it begins, their nightly calls. Sometimes only minutes long, sometimes hours. Gwen ends up getting a much longer telephone cord so she can carry the set around with her room to room as she makes tea, folds laundry, sits on the deck, takes a bath. Mildred moves a chair to where her own telephone is,against the kitchen wall so she can sit after hours of being on her feet. Every call begins and ends the same way, with Gwen calling and Mildred waiting to answer, fearful of looking too desperate, too dependant. With Gwen saying she loves her, and Mildred wordlessly hanging up. It doesn’t hurt Gwen as much as she thinks it would, Gwen understands Mildred, as well as anyone, could understand her, anyway. She has studied Mildred Elenor Ratched, she would write a book on her, get her Ph.D. in her if there was such a thing. She understands Mildred has to process things in her own time, and all she can do is do what she said she will do - love her.  
  
Mildred, for her part, didn’t know she could ache so much. She had thought once their lost weekend was over, the itch scratched, she’d have been able to proceed with her life, with or without Gwen, but instead, it was just the spark that had slowly set everything on fire around her, inside her. She wakes as alone as ever every morning - her bed is now too big and too cold, her room too dark and too quiet. She imagines Gwen with her and immediately regrets washing her pillow, her sweater. Every hour that passes at work is both excruciatingly dull and entirely too long, but still, she feels herself lighten as each hour that passes is an hour closer to Gwen calling, to hearing Gwen’s voice. To maybe even seeing Gwen. She could never understand those clock watchers she’s worked with, but now it makes sense in a way it didn’t before, not even when she was younger. Back then, she couldn’t understand what could be more important, more vital than their work, but now it’s time away from what she wants to be doing, what she should be doing. Time is the ultimate luxury now. Two weeks ago she couldn’t waste her time fast enough, having entirely too much of it on her hands, endless, empty amounts of it, and now each minute is a minute that she will never get back, a minute she should be spending with Gwen, knowing they were rationed and few. Now, she waits all day for the telephone to ring - sometimes at seven, sometimes at eight, one night it rang at nine when there was a brewing scandal and Gwen had to stay at work late - her heart racing until she picks up until she hears Gwen’s “Hello.”  
  
Hello.  
  
Strange how one word from one woman can quell all her worries and her fears, albeit temporarily.  
  
Once Gwen called in the morning, just because she could and Mildred tried to hide the idiotic smile spread across her face all morning and failed spectacularly, ignoring the looks and comments from the patients and the other nurses and orderlies. She could handle the days, work being what it was, but it was nights when the trouble always began. She’d lay in bed, fitful and restless, unable to sleep. In her more desperate moments, she slides her hand or the pillow down between her legs, but it does nothing for her beyond frustrating her because it’s not Gwen. Because all it does is make her think of Gwen with other women, nameless and faceless, women who are slimmer and smarter and kinder than her. Their hands touching Gwen when hers could not. Their face buried against her most private parts instead of hers. The idea fills her with a fierce form of jealousy that she hasn’t felt since she was seven and Susie Robinson got a new red bike and let everyone but Mildred try it.  
  
Since Edmund chose Dolly over her.  
  
The idea chills her to the core. Her jealousy was deadly, same with her love. Everything she touched, everything she cared for and about died or turned vile, corrupted. Everything except Gwen. Gwen who was sick, Gwen who may die.  
  
These were the thoughts going around and around in her mind every day except for the brief times when Gwen would call her every night, would talk to her, would hold her with her words, and would tell her she loved her.  
  
She doesn’t tell her of these thoughts, no. She holds them deep, deep in her chest, afraid of marring her precious little time with the other woman.  
  
Gwen knows there are things Mildred is keeping within her, but she cannot force her to talk about it, so rather, she just lets the woman be on the telephone line with her. For Gwen, the time away is restful, necessary. Everything between them had always seemed so urgent, so necessary. They fell headfirst into each other all those years ago that anticipation is now something to be savoured, a delight, like a hot bath on a cold day, the tickle of good champagne on the tongue. She had forgotten how much she loved to hear Mildred talk about anything she found interesting or fascinating. She had forgotten how **_smart_** the other woman was, how eager she was to learn.  
  
“I got another postcard today,” Mildred mentions during a lull in the conversation one night, flipping the stiff card stock in her hand, grinning at the picture of various San Francisco landmarks emblazoned on the front of it, a joke between them now. She has a stack of them, a new one arrives almost every day. She uses them as bookmarks, props them on the mirror in her bedroom, leans them on the mantle. She fights with herself to keep them out, not hoard them or lock them up tight. They are reminders that Gwen is coming back to her, Gwen is thinking of her, Gwen loves her, and only her. She wants to send one herself but finds she is unable to write anything on the back. She fills out the name and the address and then stares and stares at the blank space to the left but finds she has no words that are appropriate. She cannot very well say she needs her, she wants her, she cannot sleep without dreaming of her, can she? So it stays empty on the bedside table, neatly.  
  
She doesn’t mention it on their next call.  
  
She doesn’t mention how she starts to turn on the radio when she gets home now, low enough that she can hear over it, but loud enough for it to remind her of Gwen. She doesn’t mention how she thinks of Gwen when she goes shopping the next Saturday, picking up something warm for her to wear the next time she comes over. Or how she’s still thinking of her as she picks up a new nightgown, something pretty and entirely impractical, scandalously low cut, easy enough for Gwen to slip off her shoulders, ghost her mouth over… she blushes at her thoughts but still she buys it. She knows Gwen loves her regardless of what she wears or how she styles her hair, but she still wants the other woman to see in her a trace of the woman she once was all those years ago.  
  
She wants to try and she hasn’t wanted to try in so long.  
  
She has spent so incredibly long hiding, blending in, that it feels so very uncomfortable now, wrong even, to try to be seen, even in some small way, but she can’t help herself. She never could, she supposes, help herself when it came to Gwen.Gwen, after all, was the one person who has always seen her and still, she sends her postcards to make her smile, and calls her every night to make her feel seen. Make her feel loved once more.  
  
To make her **_feel_**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **a:** From Labi Siffre’s beautiful ‘Bless the Telephone’ - though Kelis (yes, she of 'Milkshake' fame) does a lovely cover of it too.  
>  _“Strange // How a phone call can change your day // Take you away // Away // From the feeling of being alone // Bless the telephone”_


	19. eleven thirty (christmas eve turning into christmas day)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How exhausting it is to want, want, want and still never get your fill. She’d thought distance or age would’ve moderated her desire for the other woman, neither of them as young as they were when they last spent hours together in bed, but if anything it seems to make her desire deeper, wider, more urgent. She sees Gwen’s lips quirk, her brow raise, and Mildred blushes, knowing Gwen knows. … Last night’s embers in her belly spark and catch fire and roars, selfishly she wants once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **a:** Sooo, this chapter is semi-graphic… like, literally toeing the line of what I’d call explicit? This is likely smut adjacent?  
>  **b:** A warning for some internalized homophobia and/or questioning about femininity and gender. Some mentions of class and economic differences (we learn how Gwen can afford her life!).  
>  **c:** Not sure how many of y'all have seen the film of Cuckoo’s Nest, and as stated at the start, this is a way to reconcile two vastly different works of art into this singular character. In the film, there’s a scene where Nurse Ratched is rendered powerless in the eyes of the patients when they rip her uniform open and reveal her breasts. This chapter has certain allusions to that and I only mention it so Mildred’s reaction makes sense. I don't know if it warrants a full trigger warning for the assault (as it's only hinted at) or the panic attack it prompts, but just in case, please consider this the warning.

* * *

_1966 - Salem, OR  
  
  
_The last Mildred hears from Gwen is when she calls her from a payphone from the Portland airport around 3:30 pm saying she’ll be at Mildred’s no later than 6:00 pm.  
  
It’s now past nine and Mildred’s heart is racing, she’s picked every nail down to the bed and chewed her lipstick off. Her mind runs an endless loop of the countless ways Gwen could be injured, hurt, missing. Dead. Even her usual mantra reciting Edmund, Charlotte, and Bromden’s locations fail to calm her down. She switches back and forth between the radio and the television for the news, half-praying to whatever deity was in charge of Gwen’s soul that she would see nothing about the other woman. So long as there’s no confirmation, there’s hope. There’s a traffic accident on the new I-5 and she’s mostly certain that’s the holdup, at least that’s what she repeatedly tells herself as she snaps the television off turns the radio back on.  
  
She paces the living room.

She wipes the kitchen counters once again.

She goes to the bedroom where she smooths out the bedspread, fluffs the pillows. She goes back into the kitchen and pours herself a glass of water, sips it, pours the rest out into the sink and washes the glass. Goes back into the living room and adjusts the gifts under the tree, the lights on the branches. Back into the kitchen to dry her glass, puts it back into the cupboard.

Mildred hears a car idle outside, and then turn off.She counts to five, wills her hands stop shaking before she goes into the entryway and peeks out the window cautiously, discouraged from the previous four times she thought it was Gwen and it wasn’t. The fifth time’s a charm apparently, and God, she could cry with relief when she sees Gwen exit from the car and stretch after the long drive. She quickly smooths her hair down, reapplies her lipstick in the hall mirror, and heads to the front door, working hard not to throw it open, run out into the other woman’s arms. No, she takes a deep breath and then another as she waits for the doorbell to ring, she pretends she hasn’t spent the last three hours imagining a hundred different ways life could’ve conspired to keep the other woman from her once more. The bell rings, the door opens and there’s Gwen, safe and sound and smiling at her in a ridiculous little Santa hat she’s tossed atop her head. “You put up lights!” Gwen exclaims and Mildred’s stomach twists when she sees how delighted Gwen is in the way only Gwen can find delight in anything - a string of lights wound around a porch railing, good maple syrup, the younger woman standing before her whose heart is still beating erratically.

Mildred can’t say anything, can’t do anything but pull the other woman in and shut the door behind her, take her cold, cold face in her hands and kiss her firmly. She can hear Gwen’s belongings drop to the ground, but she doesn’t care. She only cares that the other woman is here in her arms, safe and sound and in one piece. She can feel the woman’s gloved hands tighten their grip on her waist and pull her close until they’re pressed together against the door. She can’t help but smile into the kiss - Mildred is absolutely **_dizzy_** with the joy and delight that comes from Gwen, from their kiss. “You came back!” She says with shining eyes, pulling back just enough to breathe, just enough to see.  
“Of course my Darling girl, how could I not?” Gwen asks, peeling off her gloves and placing a chilled palm against Mildred’s cheek. Her question is sincere, and she doesn’t understand how Mildred could think she wouldn’t have, couldn’t have. She’d have driven if there were no flights, and then walked if she had to. All she wants, all she has ever wanted is to be beside Mildred. Even before she had met here, she had held a space for her in her heart. Mildred doesn’t answer, simply takes another breath and kisses Gwen once more, gently this time, the fear and adrenalin leaving her body and leaving her exhausted and thankful and in need of assurance.  
  
One of them hums, one of them sighs contentedly as their bodies mould to each other once more.

“Darling, you’re going to make me weak at the knees if you keep kissing me like that,” Gwen says when they break apart once more.  
“You said you’d expect that sort of greeting every time and I’d hate to disappoint you,” Mildred replies, blushing, as she steps back from Gwen and looks at the mess around them.  
“You could never,” Gwen tells her, ducking her head to be in Mildred’s line of sight, “Not really.”  
“Mmmmm.” Mildred shakes her head lightly, uncomfortable with the spreading sensation of warmth that Gwen’s words have on her.  
“I even had mistletoe,” Gwen admits with a chuckle, pulling a crumpled bundle of green leaves and delicate white blooms tied together with a red ribbon.  
“In case I needed a reason to kiss you?” Mildred asks, face quirked in amusement.  
“It’s tradition…” Gwen shrugs, holding it above their heads and smiling as Mildred leans over for a chaste kiss, laughing all the while. She loves hearing the other woman laugh, she’s missed hearing it, seeing it. When she laughs it’s as if fifty pounds of stress and worry ease from her shoulders for just a moment. She can’t tear her eyes away from Mildred now. There’s a flutter in her stomach and a hum in the air around her, her head is swimming and if she could think, she’d think to sit down, to lean against the wall, but she can’t.All she can think about is she’s here with Mildred and it’s like she sees Mildred for the first time all over again. Here is this beautiful, brilliant woman, waiting for **_her_**. “Gwen, what is it?”  
“I…” Her mouth goes dry and she’s overcome with a sharp wave of sorrow emanating most specifically from her heart. Suddenly death scares her. She realizes what death means now. It means never seeing this woman, never touching her again, never hearing her say her name again, never-  
“Gwen, what’s wrong?” Mildred asks, placing the back of her hand on the older woman’s cheek, her forehead, “Are you all right?”  
“I’m sorry Darling,” Gwen finally manages to choke out, trying and failing to twist her face into a smile. “I’m fine, I promise.”  
“You don’t look it.”  
“I just missed you,” She deflects, taking the other woman’s hand and squeezing it lightly.  
“Is that all?” Mildred can’t help but scoff.  
“I missed you,” She shrugs, sliding her Santa hat off her head and running a hand through her hair, missing Mildred’s appreciative glance at how rakish and elegant it made her look, “I know we spent four years together, and so many more apart, but I **_missed_** **_you_**.” She exclaims softly, without guilt, without anger, nothing but relief.  
“I missed you too.” Mildred manages to say, each word a painful admission, but one she feels she must make. “But you’re here now.”  
“And so are you.” Gwen smiles a sad sort of smile and tries to shake off the heaviness that has fallen over her.  
“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” Mildred murmurs, a hand to Gwen’s coat.  
“Miss Ratched, I’m **_shocked_** ,”  
“That’s not what I meant…” She warns, undoing the buttons of the coat and sliding it off the other woman’s body. “But I’m glad to see you wearing something sensible though.”  
“I told you I had sensible clothes, I just had to dig them out.” Gwen puts her gloves into the pocket of the coat and steps out of her shoes before progressing further into the entryway. “I am sorry I’m late, you would not believe the accident that was on the highway!” Gwen exclaims, carrying her suitcase into the bedroom, ignoring the pang in her core at the sight of bed ready and made up for them. The idea of once more sharing a bed with the other woman is too heady to think about right now, so she places her case in the corner and opens it and takes out a floral tin and the packages she’s brought for Mildred wrapped in delicate paper and ribbon.  
“I saw on the news,” Mildred admits, “Were you stuck in it?”  
“Here, make yourself useful and help me put these under the tree.” She teases, handing over some of the parcels before she heads to the living room, “No, I heard about it on the radio so I just took local all the way down.”  
“Gwen, that must’ve taken forever!”  
“It did, but at least I was moving. I know I should’ve called to let you know, but I honestly didn’t know how long it’d take and all I could think about was getting here to you so onward I drove!” She cheerfully proclaims, kneeling to place them under the tree. “I’m sorry if I worried you?”  
“No, no.” Mildred lies, poorly.  
“I promised you I would be here, and here I am Darling.” She holds out her arms for Mildred to help her up, “A little late, but here nonetheless. Next time I’ll call.”  
“Gwen, you don’t-”  
“I know, but I should’ve. Now, Andrew wanted me to be sure to give this to you tonight…” She hands over the tin and Mildred looks at her confused, her hand tracing the tag with her name on it in what was most certainly not Gwen’s writing. “Go on, open it.” She encourages, “If they broke, that’s entirely my fault.” She admits, watching Mildred carefully open the tin to reveal layer after layer of beautiful Christmas cookies. “I had mentioned gingerbread was your favourite…”  
“For me?”  
“Mmmhmmm.” Gwen nods.  
“But why?” She doesn’t understand.  
“Because he’s Andy?” She offers, “And he’s a romantic? And if I like you, then he said he’s sure to like you too.”  
“Like me?” Mildred asks with a knowing smirk.  
“Love you,” Gwen confirms softly.  
“That’s better.” She teases in response, wishing she can say something more than that, but the words are still too hard to say. “I assume Trevor still hates me?” Mildred asks, snapping a cookie in two and offering half of it to the other woman.  
“We’re working on it…” Gwen hedges, embarrassed as she bites into it. “He’s very protective.”  
“Mmmm,” Mildred remarks before she eats her cookie half. “Oh. This is…”  
“Right? Andy’s a whiz in the kitchen!”  
“Speaking of the kitchen, I’m afraid dinner may be slightly overdone?”  
“Dinner?”  
“It’s Christmas, Gwen, and I **_can_** cook.”  
“That sounds…heavenly. I don’t think I’ve eaten since breakfast.” Gwen says, heading straight to the kitchen to avoid the chastisement that she knows will come from Mildred.  
“We’ll talk about how you’re taking care of yourself **_after_** Christmas,” Mildred comments, following the other woman into the kitchen.  
“I don’t doubt it,” Gwen retorts, taking the other woman into her arms, “But let’s not talk about it tonight? Or tomorrow.”  
“If that’s what you’d like.” Mildred agrees.  
“It is.” She places a kiss on her cheek, only to move her lips along her jaw, down her neck.  
“Gwwwwwennnn…” Mildred singsongs, squirming under her touch, “Dinner.”  
“I’m just fine with this.” She murmurs between kisses.  
“I did not spend all day cooking just to have you… **_Oh_**.” She gasps as Gwen slips behind her, her lips now following her spine, easing the zipper of her dress down inch by excruciating inch to clear the path for her mouth.  
“Just to have me what?” She asks, her mission thwarted by the lace edge of Mildred’s slip.  
“I don’t remember,” Mildred admits, suddenly lightheaded, suddenly questioning if this is reality.  
“That’s a shame, I’m sure you’ll remember.” Gwen zips up her dress back, sets the other woman back to rights as if nothing happened, “What’s for dinner?”  
  
Mildred’s right, dinner is a little dry given how late they’re eating, but Gwen is sure to devour everything on her plate, to complement Mildred, thank her for making a delicious meal. They wash the dishes and put everything away together, falling into their roles from Gwen’s last visit. “What would you like to do tonight?” Mildred asks, waiting for the kettle to boil when the last dish is dried, the last leftover stored, Gwen’s drink topped up.  
“Anything.”  
“Anything?”  
“I just want to be with you.”  
“Oh, I mean, yes…” Mildred blushes, turning to fix their cups.  
“No Darling, I mean…” She smiles, leaning back against the counter so she can see Mildred’s face, “ ** _Always_** , but what I meant was I want to sit with you and eat too much chocolate from our stockings and watch ‘It’s A Wonderful Life' and fall asleep on your shoulder and just…”  
“Be?” Mildred asks. She’s embarrassed at being embarrassed at the idea of making love to Gwen, and she doesn’t know why. She’s spent every night they’ve been apart missing their closeness and now it’s like she’s a newlywed, nervous at the idea of… The kettle blows. “That sounds wonderful.”  
“Good.” Gwen grins, reaching around Mildred to turn off the flame. Together they make tea and carry it into the living room where Andy’s cookies and the blanket await them.They’ve missed ‘It’s A Wonderful Life’, but they’re in time to catch most of the late film, “Stanwyck or O’Hara?” Gwen asks, flipping between the two channels.  
“Oh, uh, Stanwyck.”  
“Stanwyck?” Gwen feigns offence, “What’s wrong with O’Hara?”  
“One ginger is enough for me, thank you very much,” Mildred answers, sitting primly on the centre of the couch, tucking her legs off to the side.  
“Am I?” Gwen asks, flipping back to Barbara Stanwyck trimming a tree with Dennis Morgan, trying her best not to fall for him and ruin her career.  
“Are you what?”  
“Enough for you?” Gwen holds Mildred’s gaze, lets the other woman peer at her and through her. Gwen could look at Mildred forever and never have her fill, she’s so much like the ocean, ever-changing and shifting, a million and one different shades of blue. She knows Mildred can only look at her for brief bursts, often finding it too much.  
“Yes, yes I believe you are,” Mildred admits, watching Gwen’s eyes light up with unspoken delight as she settles herself down on the floor by Mildred. Everything delights her, after all, even Mildred.  
“You don’t want to join me up here?”  
“Perhaps in a bit, my back’s just a little tight from the drive.”  
“Mmmmm,” Mildred hums, taking a sip, her free hand landing on Gwen’s shoulder. She can’t help it, she just wants to keep touching her, reassuring herself that this isn’t a dream - the lights on the tree and the movie and Gwen and her. She wonders if Gwen notices, knows she notices everything when it comes to her.

Gwen does notice, it hasn’t escaped her attention how Mildred keeps touching her. Her hands keep reaching out and brushing her hair, her face, her shoulders. It’s clumsy but earnest as if the other woman doesn’t know how much affection or attention is enough and it makes Gwen’s heart swell every time. Mildred is trying, painfully and honestly trying for her.

She leans over and reaches for her glass, taking a sip from the strong measure of bourbon Mildred’s poured for her during dinner. She lets the sweet sting root her to this place, for some reason, everything has begun to feel very real tonight. Mildred and this drink and the hard floor she’s sitting on and the love she feels in her heart and the fear she feels in her belly - it’s all very real. “You’re rather quiet tonight.” Mildred comments after a while, unable to focus on the film when there’s Gwen right there, that delicious little taper of hair at the base of her neck just begging to be played with.  
“Mmmm. Just thinking.”  
“About?”  
“You. This. Life.” She takes another small sip as she feels Mildred freeze, “I’m going to miss all this.”  
“Not for a good long time you won’t.” She replies matter of factly, bending down to take the glass from Gwen’s hand. She takes a mouthful and grimaces, a reminder how much she dislikes bourbon, drinking it only on painful occasions now.  
“Did I ever tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” Gwen flirts, tipping her head back so it reclines on the seat of the couch and lets her look up at Mildred.  
“No, I don’t believe you did,” Mildred responds, raising a brow to hide her amusement.  
“That can’t be!” Gwen playfully exclaims as she sits up and turns around. She’s warm and full and tipsy and she will not give in to melancholy, not on Christmas Eve, not with Mildred so close to her. “You, my Darling girl are exceptionally beautiful tonight. That dress is…” She grins deviously, her hand resting on the woman’s knee, slowly inching its way up to the green satin hem, “Made for you.”  
“Gwwwennnn,” Mildred warns, squirming under her touch once more.  
“Yessss?” She asks, wordlessly asking permission from Mildred before she begins to kiss a path from Mildred’s knee to further up up up…  
“But the film? And the presents?” Mildred asks between heavy breaths.  
“You can keep watching, I’ve seen it before.” Gwen answers, voice completely innocent and at odds with the devious grin on her face. “But I can stop if you’d like…?” She rests her face on her hands and looks up at the other woman, not caring that she gazes up like a fool in love. It’s not so much that she looks like the Mildred she once knew, more that she **_feels_** like it. She feels like the Mildred that once loved her, that once moved heaven and earth with her devotion. Mildred places a palm on her cheek and Gwen leans into it, leans into her. Message received, she turns back around and forces herself to pay attention once more the Barbara Stanwyck, despite the other woman’s fingers lovingly stroking the nape of her neck.

It’s not long after that that she falls asleep, Mildred’s touch, the long drive and the stiff drink catching up to her. She doesn’t even realize until she hears her name being called, dragging her from the depths of dreamless sleep. “Gwen, let’s get you to bed, shall we?”  
“Mmmmm, you’re still watching.” She counters, eyes still closed.  
“The film ended over a half-hour ago.” A cool hand on her cheek.  
“It did?”  
“It did. It’s past midnight.”  
“It is?” Gwen manages to pry her eyes open, blinking once or twice. The room is quiet, lit only by the Christmas tree lights and all she can see with her blurry vision is Mildred kneeling on her level.  
“Merry Christmas.”  
“It’s Christmas!” Gwen replies, beaming. “Merry Christmas, my Darling girl.”  
“Come on,” Mildred rises, holding out her hands to help Gwen up, “Let’s get you to do bed. What?” Gwen is looking at her again, staring actually, her cheeks ruddy with sleep and her hair sticking up again, but there’s something in her look. It’s sure and steely, one brow slightly cocked and Mildred can feel a flush crawling across her face, her chest. Butterflies begin to take flight from her belly to her whole body. She runs her palms along her new nightgown that she’s changed into before waking Gwen, suddenly nervous. She doesn’t understand, not really, how she manages to feel her most feminine, her most womanly with another woman, with Gwen. Shouldn’t every woman have this reaction on her if she’s **_really_** this way? Because they don’t. Oh, she’s had others look at her, leer at her, and she despises it, truly. It makes her skin crawl when she can feel peoples eyes trace her shape under her uniform, under her coat, but here she is, in nothing more than a suggestion of a nightgown picked out expressly for the purpose of Gwen to look at her as she is now, for Gwen to want her, but not **_for_** Gwen, not really. It’s the first thing she’s bought for herself in God knows how long that wasn’t purely practical, that wasn’t meant to blend in, or hide - no, as she ran her hand over the practically sheer material, the lace edging, the obscenely low neckline in the shop, she knows that to buy this, to wear this, is to invite Gwen to look at her, to want her to, to see her body and soul as it is now, not as it was before, but **_now_**. She has held men’s lives and limbs in her hand and yet she’s never felt more powerful than when she looks at the other woman in the midst of their most intimate moments and sees her **_see_** her. See the good and the bad and the wretched, complicated mess that is contained (just barely) beneath her skin. It makes her feel strong, yes, and seen, but also so incredibly **_safe_**. That’s it, she supposes, she’s always felt safe with Gwen. Gwen has never once tried to make her feel anything other than good and safe and beloved. Even now, as Mildred feels Gwen’s eyes devour every curve, every trace of skin she feels completely…safe. “I take it you like it?” She finally asks, nervous at the silence. How is she to know that Gwen’s mind has all but short-circuited, her mouth going completely dry (unlike other parts of her body)?  
“Darling,” She whispers, finally awake enough to gather her wits. “May I?” She asks, reaching her hand out, but not touching her until Mildred wordlessly nods, sending a whiff of perfume out towards Gwen. “Oh my,” It’s a lot for Gwen, if she’s honest. Being here, being with Mildred was enough, was more than she had dared hoped for, but now, with Mildred having done this, Gwen feels positively wordless. Her hand reaches Mildred’s side and slides up the smooth fabric - it’s delicate and soft and it overjoys her, not because she thinks it’s for her, but because it’s so completely frivolous and beautiful and Mildred bought it. “You are **_still_** the most exquisite and astonishing being I have ever known,” She confesses, her fingertips moving from her hip up to the sweet little gathers of fabric at her breasts, “Do you know that, Mildred?” She plays with the satiny ribbon tied in a bow, her nail dragging along where skin meets fabric, “And I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you.”  
“Don’t say that Gwen.” She blushes.  
“It’s the truth.” Gwen closes the gap between them, their bodies almost touching, knee to knee, belly to belly, breast to breast. “May I kiss you?”  
“Could you?” Mildred all but whispers, her eyes shining in the colourful lights, ready to have Gwen take her to bed. Gwen steps even closer and tries not to smile when Mildred sighs at the contact.  
“Miss me?”  
“Mmmmhmmm.” Mildred nods, wrapping her arms around the older woman’s shoulders.  
“Good, because I’ve missed you too.” And then she kisses her, softly and tenderly. She can feel the other woman smile into the kiss, and she hopes beyond hope that they can stay this happy for the whole of the holidays. Mildred’s mouth slips out from under her lips and begins to meander a path up her jaw, towards her ear, “Take me to bed?” She murmurs, shyly. She doesn’t know why she’s so bashful tonight, so nervous, but she is. She feels oddly hopeful, reborn even, and she doesn’t understand it, and she doesn’t **_want_** to understand it, she just wants Gwen to take her to bed, to lay her down and do…whatever she wants.  
“Sure you don’t want to stay…?” Gwen’s question trails off, her hands gliding up and down Mildred’s back, feeling each notch of the other woman’s spine through the thin fabric. “Open presents?” A devious smile. “It’s Christmas after all.”  
“Bed.” She insists, pressing herself a little firmer against the other woman, relishing the way their bodies fit together after all this time, different, but still satisfying.  
“Bed.” She repeats, placing a demure kiss on her lips before she releases the other woman from her grasp.  
“Go change, I’ll be in in a minute.” So Gwen leaves, taking note of how lovely the other woman looks lit by the multicoloured lights before she turns them off for the evening.

Mildred takes her time, turning off the lights, sealing up the tin of cookies, moving their cups to the sink. She can hear Gwen’s movements and she allows herself to enjoy it. To pretend that things are like they once were. No. That this is how things **_could_** still be. She turns on the radio, lowers it, and double-checks the windows, the doors. “Ready for bed, Darling?” Gwen asks, stepping into the hall.  
“Mmmmm? Yes.” Mildred feels her heart skip a beat seeing Gwen stand in the hall in her pyjamas, the light grey silk practically glowing in the dark.  
“I rather like this on you,” Mildred admits, making her way to the bedroom. And she does. She doesn’t know why or how, but Gwen makes the loose pants and the button-down look elegant, like everything else. She doesn’t know how she does it, how she’s always done it, blurring the line between masculine and feminine until it’s so completely, uniquely her own. She envies it, the confidence that takes.

“Is everything all right?” Gwen asks, following her into the room, “You seem different tonight.”  
“I **_feel_** different?” She confesses, “But I can’t say why or how. Does that make sense?”  
“In a way,” Gwen takes her waist in her hands, holds her lightly, unsure of what to do or say next. They both have the awkwardness of newlyweds, of teenagers, not women who’d done this before, let alone with each other. There isn’t the rush from their last visit, the urgency, the need - or rather, there is urgency and need, but it’s so vastly different now. It’s no longer about claiming the other woman, marking her, but rather just **_being_** with them. “This feels silly, doesn’t it?” Gwen almost-whispers.  
“What does?” Mildred asks. She feels the softness around her hardening suddenly and she fights against it.  
“Being nervous around you.”  
“You are?”  
“I am,” Gwen admits. She notes Mildred’s sudden exhale of relief, her shoulders relax once more.  
“Don’t be,” Mildred responds, taking Gwen’s hand in hers and placing it on her cheek. “We’re together and we’re safe.”  
“We are, aren’t we?”  
“We are.” She curls into Gwen’s touch, placing a soft kiss on the inside of her wrist. “Ready for bed?”  
“I don’t think I can sleep just yet.”  
“No?”  
“Not with you in this…” Gwen tugs lightly at the gathers of almost sheer fabric around Mildred’s body, “You look like an absolute vision in this, my Darling girl.” She sees Mildred’s eyes almost close at the term of endearment, “What is it about that? When I call you that?” She asks, ghosting her hand from Mildred’s face to the delicate neckline of the nightgown.  
“I don’t know, I just like it. I like being yours.” She admits softly, her breath catching. Gwen is teasing her now, she knows it by the way her fingertips keep brushing the tops of her breasts, the way she pretends she isn’t doing it, the way she keeps looking at her.  
“You’re as much mine as I am yours,” Gwen admits. The idea exhilarates Mildred - she alone knows just how much of her mind, body, and soul is marked by Gwen and the idea that the other woman could feel as much for her? A shiver runs down her spine. “Cold?”  
“Mmmhmmm.” She nods, throwing her arms around Gwen’s shoulders. “Please Gwen.”  
“Please?”  
“Don’t tease me anymore.” She doesn’t plead, she doesn’t beg. She doesn’t even ask. She simply states and Gwen can only look at her, uncertain of how to navigate through this. “All right then,” Mildred says, changing tact. “What would you have done to me earlier tonight had I not paused you?”  
“Paused me?”  
“Mmmm yes. Paused.” She sits herself on the edge of the bed, hands politely clasped in her lap. She rather enjoys watching Gwen be the one to blush now, under **_her_** gaze. “All bark and no bite, Mrs. Briggs?”  
“Now who’s teasing?” She asks as she settles herself astride Mildred. She leans her forearms on her shoulders and buries her hands in the auburn hair and tugs lightly so the other woman has to choice but to look up at her.  
“Not me,” Mildred responds, slipping a cold hand past Gwen’s waistband and nestles it swiftly into the warm and waiting wetness between her legs. She grins wickedly as the other woman gasps at her sudden actions, her back straightening, eyes widening.  
“With the lights on? And not even a hello?” Gwen asks, adjusting to the fingers working within her, her hips moving on their own accord.  
“What were those calls every night if not a warm-up?” She counters her free making quick work of the buttons on Gwen’s nightshirt. “But I can stop if you’d like?” She stills her hand but Gwen’s body continues to move against her. “Would you like me to stop?” She asks, her eyes locking onto Gwen’s.  
“No.”  
“All right then…” Her words die off as she holds Gwen’s upper body tightly against hers, the older woman’s forehead resting on her shoulder as their bodies move together. Mildred has one hand trailing up and down from the nape of her neck down as far as the shirt will allow her, and then back up while the other is working her fingers and thumb in concert with each other to tease and taunt Gwen’s tender flesh. She begins to coo in Gwen’s ear, more softly than she ever knew she was capable of, words of devotion, words that alluded to, or were adjacent to the word on the tip of her tongue. She tells her how glorious she feels, how beautiful she is like this. She speaks and speaks and speaks, but she isn’t certain how much is getting through to Gwen, her responses reduced to sounds muffled by Mildred’s shoulder against her mouth. Still, Mildred continues to speak, her hand matching the elevated pace set by the other woman’s body, the increasingly shortened breaths and moans, the tightness of her arms around her. She tells her she could do this all night if Gwen would let her. She tells her she would do this the whole of her life. She tells her everything except the one thing she so desperately wants to say, the one thing Gwen wants to hear. And then she feels Gwen **_tightenstightenstightens_** around her fingers, around her body -

And then releases.

Gwen goes limp in her arms and Mildred wants to cry, thankful for the other woman’s release. Holding her, stroking her hair, her back as she comes down, comes back together, Mildred feels almost holy, not unlike when she started nursing, thankful for the ability to bring peace and comfort to another being, in this case, to **_this_** being. This woman. Gwen’s punch drunk and smiling at Mildred, her blue eyes blown black. “Are you all right?” Mildred asks kindly, enjoying seeing Gwen like this, her face and bare chest flushed red.  
“More than!” She sighs, kissing her carelessly. “Where did my Darling girl learn that?” Her limbs are loose, the stress from the flight and the drive gone.  
“From you, actually.” She admits as she eases her hand out from between them. Gwen winces with discomfort at the act, already missing their closeness, but her pain is short-lived as she watches Mildred watch her as she brings her wet fingers up to her mouth. There is nothing but the rushing of blood in Gwen’s ears, the heaviness of her own breathing as she watches the tip of Mildred’s tongue dip out and connect with her fingers. She can’t hear anything or see anything other than Mildred’s mouth, Mildred’s hand, Mildred's lips now wet with her. She doesn’t hear Mildred point out that she’s staring. She can’t do anything but remind herself to breathe. Breathe in and breathe out until she can think again, until she can hear again, until she can see Mildred’s smile. “You, Mildred Ratched are a stunning marvel of creation.” And then, no longer nervous, no longer unsure, she takes Mildred’s face in her hands and kisses her hard, trying to steal every taste of herself back from the other woman’s willing mouth. Gwen rises up on her knees and leans over the other woman, swiftly piling the bed pillows, “Back please.” She instructs.  
“Gwen?”  
“Mildred.”

A wordless battle of wills passes between them, and Mildred decides to cede control to Gwen this **_once_** , as a treat. “Like this?” She smirks as she slowly leans back into the pillows, watching Gwen’s breathing slow once more.  
“You are ravishing,” Gwen tells her, her hands pressed against the other woman’s sides, sliding up over her curves and dips. She adores this new Mildred’s body as much as her previous form, age giving her more to touch and kiss and tease and taste. “And I intend to enjoy you tonight.”  
“Seems only fair.” She answers, her hooded eyes, her heavy breathing belying her disinterested tone. “Turnabout being fair play and all that.”  
“And all that,” Gwen repeats. This Mildred truly feels both more like herself, and so incredibly different. “You’ll tell me to stop if you want to? If you need to?” She asks before she proceeds, wanting to make certain Mildred feels safe.  
“Yes, Gwen.” And she means it, because no one but Gwen has taken care of her like this, has worried about her, has held her, has ever, **_ever_** asked about how she feels, not just in bed, but in general. So she can trust no one **_but_** Gwen like this.  
“Well then,” Gwen takes her wrists in hand and lightly pins them above her head against the soft pillows before she lowers herself to hover above the other woman. Without breaking eye contact, she proceeds to tell her in great detail what she will do to her, every place she will touch and every curve she will caress. She feels Mildred’s back arch when she palms one of her breasts, she feels Mildred’s hips digging down against her thigh, her body already eager, long since wound up and waiting for release found in Gwen. She hears Mildred’s whimpers and whines as she moves her kisses down her body. “Still with me?” She asks, looking up at Mildred, her hair spread against the pillows, eyes half-closed, nodding. Gwen returns her attention back to Mildred’s body, moving as it is in waves beneath her. Her one hand presses more firmly against the other woman’s wrists, and her other hand undoes the ribbon tugs the fabric away - but things change suddenly. Mildred freezes beneath her. Her breathing halts. Gwen immediately releases her hands and sits up and off the other woman. “Darling, Darling, are you all right?” She looks at the other woman, but she’s gone from her. “Mildred?” She speaks soft and slow like she had learned all those years ago. “Mildred, can you hear me?” She lets out a slow breath of relief when Mildred nods, begins to come back to her body, back to the moment. “You’re safe, and you’re here with me, all right?” The other woman nods once more. “Where are you?”  
“I’m with you.” She finally answers, voice hoarse.  
“And are you safe?”  
“I’m safe, and I’m with you.” She blinks once, twice. Her eyes adjust to the light, to room once more. She can breathe. She breathes. “Oh Gwen,” She rolls off to her side, buries her face into the pillows. “I’m sorry.”  
“Nothing to be sorry for, Darling girl,” Gwen assures her, lying down beside her, lightly stroking her hair. She remembers Mildred liked it. Had once said it helped keeps her with her, it keeps her in the moment. “Are you all right?”  
“We were having such a nice time.” Mildred deflects.  
“And you’re not answering my question, Mildred. Are you all right?”  
“Yes. No. I will be.” She rolls onto her back once more, stares at the ceiling. “I’m sorry.”  
“No more I’m sorries. Should we go to sleep?” She smiles as Mildred shakes her head no. “Should we talk about what happened?” Mildred shakes her head no once more. “I’d like to, I’d like to not hurt you again.”  
“You didn’t hurt me, I just… I’ll tell you, just not right now.”  
“All right then,” She smiles and holds an arm out and Mildred shifts into place against Gwen. She’s with Gwen and she’s safe. She’s safe, and she’s with Gwen and she’s so **_angry_**. So incredibly angry that life has intruded onto her time with Gwen, as limited and as rare as it is. “I’ve got you.” Gwen whispers in her ear, reassuring her, “I’ve got you.”

They stay like this for some time. Gwen realizes she can hear the radio in the distance, funny how she hadn’t noticed it until now. She can feel Mildred’s breath grow steady against her, and when she’s certain she’s asleep, she reaches around to the lamp - “No, leave it on.” Mildred says, voice strong.  
“Are you sure?”  
“I want to see you,” She admits, “I want to finish what we started.”  
“Darling, we can do that in the morning if you’d -”  
“I’d like to do it now if it’s all the same to you.” She interrupts, shifting herself back into her earlier position, reclining against the pillows once more. She’s with Gwen and she’s safe and she wants to make new memories.  
“I am but your humble servant,” Gwen teases, straddling the other woman once more before she places a soft kiss upon her covered sternum. She eases herself down the foot of the bed and then holds her hands out for Mildred to take them. She helps her sit up, she knows Mildred can breathe better, feels safer this way. “I believe you had asked what I would’ve done earlier before you…”  
“Paused?”  
“Yes, paused me.” Gwen lowers herself onto the floor, recreating their earlier positions. “Well I suppose I was going to start with this…” She dips her head beneath the gauzy fabric and grins hearing Mildred’s scandalized gasp.  
“Gwen!”  
“Well Darling,” Gwen pokes her head back out, “You asked. Shall I continue?”  
“I…” She lets out a long and shaky breath. She knows she shouldn’t say yes, but she can’t think of a single reason worth saying no. All she wants is Gwen’s mouth - it’s all she’s wanted for two weeks straight. The thought of it makes her back arch and she can see Gwen’s satisfied grin and she can’t help but return it with an embarrassed smile, eager and desperate for the other woman’s touch. “Please.”  
“Well, because you said please…” Gwen motions with two fingers for her to bend down, so she can kiss her, and Mildred can’t help but blush into the kiss at the thought of what those two fingers will do to her soon. The kiss ends, and she sits back up, her breath growing shallow and heavy as Gwen darts her head back under her gown. She giggles as she feels the woman kiss a trail up from her knee into her inner thigh. She holds her breath and bites her lip as she feels Gwen ease her legs wider… Gwen has used her mouth on her before (she shudders at the colloquial terms she’s heard the act called), so she doesn’t know why this time feels different. Is it because the lights are on? They’ve made love in the daytime before, sunlight and the sounds of traffic pouring in on them. Is it because they’re both older? She knows she doesn’t mind Gwen’s new body, similar but not the same as her old one, and she suspects that Gwen’s come to enjoy Mildred’s new figure if the way she delightedly spent her time mapping it with kisses and caresses was anything to go by. Still…

Still.

Her mind freezes as she feels Gwen.

Oh.

 ** _Ohhhh_**.

She can’t tell if it’s the other woman’s tongue, or her hands, or the tickle of her hair against the sensitive skin between her thighs, or some sort of delicious combination of both, but her mind sort of blows at the sensations. Her whole world narrows and shrinks to this **_single_** moment, this **_single_** sensation. Her hands scrabble are the covers, at her gown, at Gwen’s hair. Anything she can touch. Any shame she has at the way her hips begin to rock, the sounds coming from her mouth, louder than the radio, at how **_good_** she feels (and she feels fucking **_sublime_** ) is gone. In its stead is just… power. She feels powerful, yes, and strong, but she also feels beautiful, it’s as if she can see herself the way Gwen sees her, and it spurs her on. She feels **_everything_** and for once it doesn’t hurt, it feels phenomenal and so she gives into it, she gives into the other woman’s wordless encouragement, and the sparks that wash over her - like lightning coursing through her every time Gwen’s fingers curl just so, or tongue laps against her. The other woman’s free hand manages to find its way out from under her nightgown and their fingers lace together and if it’s possible, it makes Mildred feel even stronger, even more powerful, even more right.

That’s what it is. It just feels **_right_**. **_Gwen_** feels right, and she feels right when she’s with her.

She feels seen and loved and right. Like there isn’t a hair on her head, a vein in her body that Gwen would ever change. She feels this as she feels Gwen work her up to a fevered pitch. Whether it’s because she was already so wound up, ready and eager for the other woman’s touch, or that she was so distracted by how good she feels, she doesn’t know, all she does know is she’s close to the edge. There are hiccups of half-breaths coming from her that she doesn’t recognize, can’t stop. There’s a frantic pace to her hips pushing against the other woman’s mouth that makes her feel… warm. Her eyes widen, her breath catches into a whine, and her hand grips Gwen’s for dear life as she feels warmth pour over her, drench her. She’s come apart violently before but this, this is the opposite of violent.

This feels like **_joy_**.

Every muscle in her body goes loose and limp and she doesn’t know how, but she finds herself back in Gwen’s arms, being lowered onto the bed once more. She sees Gwen’s satisfied grin and can’t find it in herself to be anything but delighted at seeing it. At seeing Gwen. She arches up to kiss her, not caring that she can taste the remnants of herself in Gwen’s mouth. That has always been a step too intimate, too much for her, but she cannot be bothered to care. She cannot be bothered by anything right now as she kisses Gwen and savours each and every aftershock running through her body as it still rolls against the other woman’s. This isn’t about reclamation, or ownership, or of punitive punishment - this is wholly unlike their previous couplings. This is simply the joy of being. Together.

She’s not done, she wants more and she says as much, or at least she thinks she does, she’s not certain, but she knows Gwen’s mouth finds itself grazing over the fabric at her hips, her fingers working her already tender flesh. The whole scene would be vulgar if it wasn’t Gwen if it wasn’t her. As it is, she doesn’t know how much longer she will have this woman in her life and will feel every high and every low and every single thing in between until nothing but death itself pries the other woman from her grasp. She knows she doesn’t deserve a love like Gwen’s, a woman like Gwen, not after all the things she’s done, but then again, neither does anyone else. No one will ever treasure the other woman as she does, see her as she does - they’ve tried. Gwen herself admitted it, much to Mildred’s own displeasure, but here she is, still with her, on her knees before her… She doesn’t know where this thought is going, she’s still drunk on the other woman’s touch and it doesn’t take long for her to arch against Gwen’s hand, Gwen’s body until she’s a panting, sticky mess once more.

And she doesn’t care.

She doesn’t care, her whole body sings and she doesn’t care about anything, anyone other than herself and her lover. Her lover whose hand is still trailing lazy paths along her body, watching how she trembles from touching her skin here and there.

Her lover who loves _her_ , Mildred Eleanor Ratched, just as she is.

Loves **_her_**.

“Tired, Darling?” Gwen asks, and Mildred can do nothing more than nod, eager to continue but unable to gain control of her body, still spinning in the stars. She should tell her, she should let her know, but she can’t speak, can’t keep her eyes open. “Then let’s get you to bed,” Gwen says. She feels her rise from the bed and the covers shift and slide beneath her and suddenly she’s warm. There’s a click, and through her closed eyes, the room goes from yellow darkness to a blue one. Her hand reaches slowly towards Gwen’s, the bed shifts as the other woman joins her once more. “Merry Christmas,” Gwen murmurs in her ear, and Mildred turns to her side, pulls Gwen’s arm around her.  
“Time?” She asks, not knowing why, but the room is too bright, too light. She doesn’t hear Gwen’s answer that they’ve made it to 5:30 in the morning, she’s already asleep. She doesn’t feel Gwen tuck the blankets around her, brush her hair back, settle in behind her.

She only feels warm and safe and loved.

* * *

Gwen can feel eyes on her, pulling her from the darkness of sleep. She slowly opens first one eye, and then another to find Mildred propped up on her arms, watching her. Shadows cover her eyes, but Gwen can still sense the thrill of danger as if Mildred will devour her. She smiles, can’t help it, and feels her eyes close once more as she sinks back into the warm darkness of sleep. It’s still early to wake.

“I love you.”

_Oh._

“I love you, Gwen.”

It slips out of Mildred easily, as if her skin and her mouth and her heart could no longer contain the truth within. It’s that love for Gwen, for everything the other woman is and was and could ever be that held her together these last years. It was that which protected the last shards of goodness and humanity that were left in her, the ones Edmund and the world tried to steal from her, tried to ruin and destroy and crush. “I’ve never stopped. I don’t think I would know how. Or want to. I tried. I tried and I couldn’t but I love you and if you’ll have me, I’m yours and even if you won’t, I’ll still be yours because…” She stops abruptly because she doesn’t know what she’ll do if Gwen won’t have her. Her fragile heart would break, and then?  
“If I’ll have you?” Gwen struggles to open her eyes, but she’s wide awake and beaming up at the other woman. “Oh my Darling girl, of course I’ll have you.” She reaches up, vision still blurry, and finds the other woman’s face, finds her lips, and kisses her, hums against her lips. “I love you, you know this?” She asks once their kiss ends, their foreheads resting on each other, their entire world nothing and no one but the inches between them. “From the minute I met you I knew.”  
“Knew what?” Hushed voices.  
“I don’t know, I just knew.” A smile between them, “I knew you were going to be important to me.”  
“And was I?”  
“Absolutely.” Another kiss, a brush of a stray lock of hair, a palm upon a cheek.

Mildred hates how she melts into the touch, how she wants nothing more than that, than to feel her skin, feel her heart, feel her. She wants nothing more than Gwen, always. How exhausting it is to want, want, want and still never get your fill. She’d thought distance or age would’ve moderated her desire for the other woman, neither of them as young as they were when they last spent hours together in bed, but if anything it seems to make her desire deeper, wider, more urgent. She sees Gwen’s lips quirk, her brow raise, and Mildred blushes, knowing Gwen knows. Gwen can see her breath turn shallow, her own lips part. Last night’s embers in her belly spark and catch fire and roars, selfishly she wants once more. She can feel Gwen tug at the wrinkled nightgown, now entirely in her way and she obliges, swiftly yanking it over her head and tossing it to the gown. She hears Gwen’s voice catch, and she sees Gwen’s desire rise to the surface as Mildred settles herself atop her, legs astride. It’s Christmas morning and there’s a choir singing from the next room and she’s as naked as anything above another woman and she feels just as beautiful, just as powerful as last night, but it’s not dark, it’s not night. “Gwen?”  
“Just looking,” She explains, “Just in case.”  
“There’s no just in case.” Mildred states. Another kiss, another brush of the hair - there’s only so many actions that can pass between them but there’s so many combinations, so many variations that somehow each feels brand new and exciting.  
“Oh my Darling,” Gwen says as their bodies connect once more, “How long have you been waiting like this?”  
“Years.” And with that, they begin to move together, both tired and hungry and sore and so, so ready. Mildred takes in every ache and tightness; every roll of the hips and nip of the teeth. She takes it all in, lets herself feel everything she is doing, that is being done. She’s deliriously dizzy, and nothing makes sense other than the very realness of her body.

It’s hers.

Only hers.

It’s not Edmund’s to protect, to threaten, nor any of the countless other people, men and women, who tried to take it from her, sever it from her. Her heart may belong to Gwen but her body is hers and suddenly that matters. Gwen makes her feel that. Gwen makes her **_feel_**. What she is feeling right now matters and what she’s feeling is…glorious. Her skin just **_sings_** in the cool air. “What’s this?” Gwen asks, her free hand edging a yellow bruise on her hips.  
“Accident at work,” She answers between rolls of her hips.  
“You never said.”  
“It wasn’t important.” It wasn’t, she can’t even remember when or how.  
“Still. Does it hurt?” Gwen can’t stop looking at it, running her fingers around it using her lightest touch.  
“Not too much,” Still, she notices Gwen treating it gingerly, lovingly, as she moves her hand higher up to her waist to avoid the tender spot, to help guide her body.“I love you,” Mildred confesses fiercely, once, twice, and then a third time. “I love you and I will not lose you. Not again. Not yet.”

And there it is, the bitterness to temper the sweetness of the morning. Still, they continue to move together, their movements like honey - slow and sure and sweet. Their voices meeting each other, matching each other until Gwen can’t hear the choir over Mildred, finally safe enough, finally free enough, even if it’s just for this brief moment in time. It makes her shiver, and every time she thinks she finds the limits to her love for the other woman, feels herself stretch until she can stretch no more, still, she does. She finds more to love, more to learn about, more to care about and take care of and protect and to treasure. There is always **_more_**. Gwen thinks she could see the sunrise over Paris and set over the sea in Tahiti on the same day and still never see anything has as beautiful as Mildred at this moment.

The sun starts to crawl along the floor, up the side of the bed and Mildred comes undone into a thousand pieces with Gwen beneath her and that’s when she realises in a moment of crystal white clarity that she doesn’t want to be happy for an hour, or an evening.

She wants to be happy with Gwen for forever, for the rest of their days.

* * *

“Oh Gwen, it’s lovely!” She gasps, opening another gift. It’s late morning and they’ve finally dragged themselves out of bed, worse for wear and feeling marvellous in last night’s wrinkled nightclothes.  
“Do you like it?” Gwen asks, handing her a cup of coffee, cream and sugar added _just so_ before settling down beside her by the Christmas tree.  
“I do, but you shouldn’t have.” Her hand strokes the silk scarf nestled in the hunter green box, gilded with the shop name.  
“But I wanted to. Try it on?”  
“Gwen, I couldn’t. Not with this!”  
“Why not? Here -” She reaches across and snags the scarf out of the box and drapes it around her neck, tying it loosely off to the side, “There, you look so chic!”  
“Stop it!” She blushes, but raises her hand to the knot, plays with the ends.  
“You do. I saw it and thought of you immediately.”  
“In London?” She raises a brow.  
“Ah.” It’s her turn to blush. “It was after you called and everything seemed to…” She shrugs, “Remind me of you.”  
“Well, it’s lovely and it’s too much!” She leans over and places a lingering kiss on the other woman’s lips. Everything feels loose and free and light. She feels so **_light_**.  
“One more…” Gwen says, handing her another package, bundled together. Mildred shakes it, curious. It’s heavy, but she can feel ridges and dents. “You _caaan_ just open it.” She teases, laughing when Mildred sticks her tongue out before carefully undoing the ribbon and winding it up, undoing the wrapping.  
“Oh.” A set of books, leather-bound and gilded. _Sense and Sensibility_. _Pride and Prejudice_. _Mansfield Park_. _Emma_. _Northanger Abbey_. _Persuasion_.

Persuasion.

“I remember how much you liked reading her.” Gwen doesn’t look at her, rather looks down into her own cup of coffee, black and iridescent.  
“Hmmm.” Mildred smiles, flips through one of the books until she finds it, though she supposes she doesn’t need it to know what it says, she’d read it often enough that it’s committed to memory.  
“The letter?” Gwen asks.  
“Mmmhmmm,” Nods.  
“I am half agony, half hope.” Gwen begins, lying down beside where Mildred sits.  
“Tell me that I am not too late,” Mildred continues, her voice shy and shaky. “That such precious feelings are gone forever.”  
“I offer myself to you with a heart even more your own than when you broke it…” Gwen finishes, her looking past Mildred. Mildred isn’t the only one who’s read it enough to recall. That was before. Once Mildred left, she could never quite bring herself to read it, though she would carry it around with her, let it live on her bedside table, in her heart. She still remembers Mildred sitting at her kitchen table, some twenty years ago, their first night together, reading it as Gwen tried to make them dinner. Never in a million years did she think this is where they would end up, but here they are. Together.  
“You’re thinking?” Mildred asks, her hand burying itself in her hair.  
“I am.”  
“Want to share?”  
“Just thinking.”  
“All right.” She lets it go.

Tries to, anyway, and fails.

She opens her mouth to ask, but Gwen beats her to it. “Have you ever thought of going back to school?”  
“What?” She doesn’t follow, doesn’t understand. “Doing what?”  
“Whatever you want?” Gwen spots the shift in Mildred like a sailor spots a storm off in the horizon. She can practically smell it in the air. “You could study to be a Doctor? Or Philosophy? Or English. Anything you’d like.”  
“Gwen,” She rises and takes a pause, struggles to choose the right words, not blurt out that it’s an idiotic idea. People like her don’t go to university or college at any age, let alone _her_ age. And why is Gwen bringing this up? The books and school? Does she see her as uneducated? Is she thinking about how and _if_ Mildred would fit into her new life? Is she embarrassed by her? “Why would I do that?” She gathers the debris from this morning and moves to the kitchen, tries to hide her reddening face.  
“You would do it because you want to? _If_ you want to?” Gwen scrambles up, follows her, tries to steer the conversation onto safer shores. “I was just curious if it was something interested you is all. You’re one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met-”  
“Gwen,” She scoffs, knowing the other woman is lying.  
“You are. You truly are. Why do you think I love talking to you? The way your mind works is a _marvel_! It’s not every woman who can recite Austen passages at the drop of a hat.” She takes Mildred’s hands in hers, keeps her in this moment, this conversation. “I was only asking is all.”  
“But why?”  
“Because there’s still so much I don’t know about you and the only way I’ll ever know is to ask.”  
“And if I don’t want to? Go to school that is?”  
“Then you don’t have to, Darling,” Gwen shrugs, smiles, “And I’ll never mention it again.” She lets go of Mildred’s hand, the storm has skirted around them and dissipated, much to her relief. “What should we do with the rest of our day?” She asks, breaking into Mildred’s tin of cookies, snapping one in half and splitting one with the other woman.  
“Besides Gwen, even if I wanted to,” She bites the arm off a gingerbread man, “How would I do it? How would I pay my bills? My rent?” She sits herself down at the kitchen table, won’t look at Gwen, just at the nibbled cookie in her hand. Money is always an uncomfortable matter for her, as is education. As are most things that highlight the divide between those who have them and those who do not.  
“Mildred, forgive me for asking,” Gwen begins, sitting across from her at the kitchen table, “But what did you do with the money?”  
“The money?” She blinks, confused. “Oh,” Lenore Osgood’s money. God, how long ago that was. “I used it to move and hide and trap Edmund. What did you do with it?”  
“I invested it,” Gwen says gently, but matter-of-factly. She notices the look on Mildred’s face, “At the risk of being gauche, you helped make me into a very wealthy woman.”  
“Oh,” The thought…confuses her. She’s never really thought about money when she thought about Gwen. When she had left, she had split their account, had wanted to make sure Gwen had enough to finish her treatment, to start all over again, but she hadn’t given it much thought beyond that. There’s a sharp stab in her stomach now and she doesn’t know what feeling this is but she doesn’t like it, doesn’t like that she feels it twist deeper when she looks at Gwen looking at her.

  
“Darling, I want to show you something,” She begins, her voice calm and even. It’s important that she says just the _right_ words in just the _right_ order. “But I need you to trust that I love you.” These are _not_ the right words in the right order. She rises and leaves the room for a moment and then returns to the kitchen with something in her hand.   
“Gwen, I…” The other woman slides something over to Mildred. A slim notebook, navy. Mildred picks it up and runs her fingers over the gilded name, the insignia. So much gilding today. The box, the books, this bank passbook. She looks up.  
“Open it.” The older woman suggests. Watching as Mildred flips the cover back and sees her name: Mildred Eleanor Ratched.  
“Gwen? I don’t understand.” And she doesn’t. It’s her name, but why?  
“It’s the money you left me, accounting for interest, in a high yield account. It’s yours.”  
“I can’t - I can’t take it.” She shakes her head, shuts the book, slides it back.  
“It’s yours.” She repeats kindly. Slides it back. “It’s the money you left for me, _returned_. You’re the only one who can withdraw from the account. I…” Gwen pauses, “I always figured it would give me a reason to find you one day.”  
“Gwen…” She stares at the passbook on the table, the knife in her belly twists and she still doesn’t know what to do with it, what to call it.  
“I’m going to shower, get changed,” The older woman rises from the table, “We can talk after that if you have questions.” She kisses her cheek, smiles. “Think about what you’d like to do for the rest of the day?” She trails a hand across her shoulder, walks away.

All sorts of feelings swirl within her. She’s not a woman who needs or takes handouts. Her first impression is to be offended but she tamps down on that. She knows that’s not Gwen’s intention but still… She flips open the cover, can’t help but run her fingers over the entries. Interest that accrued over _fifteen_ years. This amount could change her life. It could let her leave, it could let her move anywhere she wants, do anything. Be anything.

And still, all she wants is to be with Gwen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **d:** The title is from Smith & Burrows ‘ _This Ain’t New Jersey_ ’, which, despite the odd title, is a rather sweet Christmas song.  
>  **e:** Parts of this was super dialogue-heavy and I’m so sorry - I think part of is that they are finally growing comfortable with each other and that they don’t have much to hide or keep in, so it’s coming out. I guess they really heard everyone’s comments of “Why won’t they just talk to each other?!” and now I can’t shut them up.  
>  **f:** Is it really one of my fics if I don’t reference Persuasion in it? Especially given it's about two people, kept apart by pain and pride for years and are reunited by a letter and ugh, you know, I’m just gonna go re-read it.  
>  **g:** One update left.


	20. Epilogue - Peace (Take Me To The World)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her heart tightens in its bony cage, her stomach twists, and if Gwen was here, she’d bury her face in the sweet soft space between her neck and her shoulder (oh, how she loves that space, the closest to a home she’s ever known), she would hold her and tell her nothing, nothing, would ever move her from her side. It is terrifying to be seen, to be loved this hard, but Gwen assures her, even in her darkest moments she deserves it. She deserves love. She deserves kindness and to be happy. Gwen makes her happy and so, by this logic, she deserves Gwen, even if she knows Gwen deserves more than her, better than her.

* * *

_March 1967 - San Francisco, CA  
  
_Mildred settles into the chair in the waiting room, her purse primly on her lap, her skin already itching from the woolen upholstery, the familiar and now unsettling smell of antiseptic in the air.  
  
Three days ago she was at her house, and now she is (temporarily) in Gwen’s home - how funny time was, how suddenly things can change. Oh, we could discuss their airport reunion (a casual kiss on the cheek, Gwen easing Mildred’s coat over her shoulders, and of how this has to be enough for both of them until they reach the privacy of the car). We can detail their physical reunion later that day (fearful, joyful, and every emotion in between as they find comfort deep within each other, sun streaming in from the windows, both of them pushing themselves to their limit before Gwen’s limits and body changes once more). We can cover their dinner that night with Trevor (who is and will likely always be wary of her, distant, but no longer outwardly hostile) and Andy (who manages to soothe and welcome her into their lives with his easy charms and quick humour) and their breakfast the next day at Linda’s Luncheon (where Mildred is now relaxed enough to enjoy the pancake with the good syrup). We can catalogue every tender word, touch (gentle and rough - in private, in safety). Every ‘Darling girl’, and every love-laden ‘Gwen’, every unspoken thought. We could discuss and write and document and catalogue every last one of these moments but none of it would ever, could ever convey the emotions and the love expressed and contained between the two of them. A private language and world and life spoken and seen only by them and them alone.  
  
The failure of writing.  
  
Mildred has given everything up once more to be with Gwen, to take care of her - for what is her life without Gwen’s love? Her kindness? Her gentle spirit and giving self? And Gwen now lives with the fact that that even in perfect health, they would have less time together than they did apart. She carries that within her. She hates it, but has learned not to waste energy on what she cannot change. Rather, she uses it to guide every minute she spends with Mildred. She remembers all the little things she wished over the years she could’ve done, said and shared with the other woman - every kind word, compliment, and loving caress, she says it, does it. Mildred doesn’t know how to react to it, after being without for so long, now Gwen’s love sits like water atop parched soil, but ever so slowly it begins to sink in.  
  
Even now, as Mildred refuses to leave (despite the nurses and Gwen assurance her she was free to do), she settles down and crosses her ankles and pulls out her book, only to find another way Gwen has managed to reach out to her. This time in the form of a crumpled piece of paper, folded into fourths and softened from frequent handling.  
  
**_Oh.  
  
_**On one side is her own writing, her address in Salem - the note she had bravely given Gwen all those months ago (where the strength to do that came from, she will still never understand). On the other side a fragment of a poem in Gwen’s scrawl:

I've got to tell you  
how I love you always  
I think of it on grey  
mornings with death  
… it

is difficult to think  
of you without me in  
the sentence you depress  
me when you are alone

…

if there is a  
place further from me  
I beg you do not go

\- O’Hara

Her heart tightens in its bony cage, her stomach twists, and if Gwen was here, she’d bury her face in the sweet soft space between her neck and her shoulder (oh, how she loves that space, the closest to a home she’s ever known), she would hold her and tell her nothing, **_nothing_** , would ever move her from her side. It is terrifying to be seen, to be loved this hard, but Gwen assures her, even in her darkest moments she deserves it. She deserves love. She deserves kindness and to be happy. Gwen makes her happy and so, by this logic, she deserves Gwen, even if she knows Gwen deserves more than her, better than her.  
  
She reads the note over once more and folds it back up, carefully, and tucks it back in her purse, as if reading it more would cause the words on the page to disappear, float away from her.  
  
Death is the opposite of possibility. One of the patients had said that once. Screamed it, rather. It scared her enough to remember it. One nonsensical rambling statement out of the countless she had heard. Well, if death is the opposite of possibility, then there are simply too many possibilities at happiness with Gwen to permit her to die just yet.  
  
Ever.  
  
She doesn’t understand it. It’s hard to understand. It confuses her, but she tries. Not for Gwen, but for herself. Because Gwen will leave her again, they’re already on borrowed time as it is, and she doesn’t think she can survive it again, losing her, being left, being alone. She must either love Gwen, and in loving Gwen, learn to love others because Gwen loves others. She loves people, she loves life and **_living_** so much that to be with her is to learn how to love like she does, live like she does. Or she can let Gwen go and remain unchanged, constant, herself.  
  
It’s not even a choice, between loving Gwen or not.  
  
She will give up everything in her life, sad and small, for the chance to live this one with Gwen. She will learn to see the world through the other woman’s eyes once more - to see the sun and not the night that will follow, to see the rain and not the flood. She will live as the woman Gwen has always seen in her, the woman she feels she can only be **_with_** her - smart and good and beautiful inside and out. Deserving. She will love Gwen because she has tried not loving her and has failed.  
  
She will go no further from her, no, she will stay at Gwen’s side.  
  
Always.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **a:** The title is from both Taylor Swift’s Peace _(I'd give you my sunshine, give you my best // But the rain is always gonna come if you're standin' with me… // Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?”)_ And from Stephen Sondheim’s (!) ‘Take Me To The World’ _(Just hold my hand whenever we arrive // Take me to a world where I can be alive // … // Let it be a world with you, stay with me // Any other world with you // Take me to a world where I can be alive)_.  
>  **b:** The poem is Morning by Frank O’Hara (1950). I love that man, and could not imagine another poet's work to fit in with the matter of fact-ness and straightforwardness of our Mildred.  
>  **c:** I admit I’ve written this chapter three times (5k, 3k, 2k words), and each time it just feels… too much and kind of overdone. So please forgive this brief chapter. It really just wanted to be straightforward and stripped down. It’s not an end of their story, so much as it’s an end to **this** story. Hopefully, you enjoyed it :) I’ve updated the playlist with a few more songs, and I’m over on Tumblr as @firstactproblems - so swing by and say hi if you’re so inclined <3 
> 
> **And a final note:** Y’all. _Y’aaaaaallllllll_. There are no words. None.
> 
> Over a year ago, I stopped being able to write, like, straight up couldn’t do it. It wasn’t a case of writer’s block, but something much more weird and scary and messed up and so my Ratched stuff is the first time I’ve written in a year, and it feels creaky and rough and hard, but also so, so necessary to get back to myself. 
> 
> This started from a really unpopular premise - Mildred from after Cuckoo’s Nest (which is a completely changed character in a lot of ways) and Gwen older, separated for years (sixteen to be exact). But you trusted me enough to start reading the story, and you gave me your time, and your compliments, and your feedback, and generally, just so much love and support and encouragement. More than that, you shared your own stories and your own lives and maybe it's because of everything (gestures wildly around) but there’s no words to express what that meant and means to me other than an utterly heartfelt and sincere **_thank you. Thank you._**


End file.
